Leave the Porch Light On

[Intro: The audible sound of a tape recorder clicking "record." A slow, deadened acoustic guitar pattern begins, dragging slightly behind the beat. Heavy, deliberate fret noise between chord changes.] [Verse 1: Bare-voiced and raw, conversational but heavy with exhaustion. The acoustic guitar is sparse.] [Quiet, observant] The glass is sweating in your palm, a little sea of salt You're staring at the plaster trying to find the hidden fault I recognize the weather in the shaking of your hands I burned that fucking blueprint, I abandoned all those plans [Voice dropping to a near-whisper] You’re waiting for the miracle to wash away the gray I had that fever once, I threw the medicine away. Threw the medicine… away. [Verse 2: Acoustic guitar picking becomes slightly more rigid, defensive. The vocal cadence picks up slightly.] The television’s screaming and the phone is growing teeth You’re trying to stay above the things moving underneath You see a chemical electric blue bleeding through the floor It isn’t strength it isn’t faith that will help you find the door [Voice tightening, a hint of gravelly rasp] Your pulse is just a metronome that’s ticking out of time You are a dirty copper penny trying to be a silver dime. [Chorus: The volume swells significantly. A wall of low-end fuzz enters beneath the acoustic guitar. The vocals leap into a strained upper register that teeters on the edge of collapse—almost shouted, desperate.] [Explosive, raw emotion] The door is made of stone! The key is made of bone! One of us is leaving, one is dying here alone! Dying here alone! The bridge is only visible when the fever breaks! The ghost is just a hunger that the living can’t forsake! [Pulling back dynamically, the distortion dropping away] I know where you are but not the path from where I’ve been. I will leave the porch light on, leave the porch light on… but I can’t promise you’ll make it in. [Instrumental Break: The acoustic guitar strikes a dissonant, open chord and lets it ring out until it decays into pure tape hiss. A slow, muffled thud of a floor tom hits twice, like a failing heart, followed by fifteen seconds of agonizing, unbroken silence.] [Verse 3: The acoustic picking returns, slower than before. The vocal delivery is a hoarse whisper that feels like a secret forced into song.] [Resigned, grounded] I’ve seen the heavy water swallow men who looked like you There is no holy promise that you're gonna make it through The shore is just a concept when your lungs are full of lead I’m a catalog of errors that you haven't written yet [Voice cracking with empathy and harsh truth] I’m not a fucking lighthouse, I'm a warning on the brink. Another shattered vessel, a wreck that forgot to sink. Forgot to sink [Verse 4: The muffled floor tom returns, pulsing steadily. The acoustic strumming becomes frantic, digging into the strings.] [Building urgency, leaning into the mic] The smell of burning plastic; the taste of copper wire You can’t put the ocean out with a little bit of fire Your world is getting smaller and the ceiling’s pressing down You’re trying to find the surface by learning how to drown Learning how to drown! Every star is a needle and every breath is a debt [A long, painful pause before delivering the final line with brutal quietness] I see it in your smile; you haven't found the bottom of the bottom of it yet. [Chorus: The low-end fuzz returns, heavier this time, drowning out the acoustic guitar. The vocals are pushed to their absolute breaking point.] [Cathartic and strained] The door is made of stone! The key is made of bone! One of us is leaving, one is dying here alone! Dying here alone! The bridge is only visible if the fever breaks! The ghost is just a hunger that the living can’t forsake! [The noise abruptly cuts out. Total silence before the final two lines.] I know where you are but not the path from where I’ve been. I will leave the porch light… but can’t promise you’ll make it in. Make it in. [Outro: Just the bare voice and a single acoustic string being plucked.] The porch light’s on… The porch light’s on… [Spoken, defeated] Pray you make it in. [The sound of the acoustic guitar being set down on a wooden floor. Footsteps walking away. The heavy click of the tape recorder being shut off.]