losing

Lyrics

Writing an 8-minute lyrical piece is quite the journey—it’s less of a song and more of an odyssey. To sustain that length, we have to move through stages: from the initial "glitch" in reality to the heavy weight of isolation, and finally to a sort of surreal acceptance.
​Here is an extended lyrical composition titled "The Static Between Stations."
​The Static Between Stations
​(Part I: The Drift)
​The floorboards have started to hum a different key
A frequency meant for the dust, not for me
I’m checking the labels on jars in the hall
To see if my name is still written at all
The kettle is screaming, a dry, hollow sound
But I’m miles above where my feet touch the ground
I counted the tiles from the door to the bed
But the numbers are changing inside of my head
Is it four? Is it nine? Is it half-past a ghost?
I’m losing the things that I’m needing the most.
​(Part II: The Reflection)
​I looked in the mirror and waited for "me"
But the glass showed a forest, a grey-scale sea
The eyes were familiar, the mouth was a line
But the soul in the center was no longer mine
It’s like I’m a witness to someone I knew
A sketch of a person that didn’t pull through
The wallpaper’s peeling in patterns of veins
And I’m listening closely to late summer rains
Except it’s mid-winter, or maybe it’s May
The calendar’s bled all its colors away.
​(Part III: The Glitch)
​(Tempo slows, a rhythmic pulsing)
​Static.
It’s in the water.
It’s in the bread.
Static.
It’s in the things
That I haven't yet said.
I’m reaching for handles that turn into smoke
I’m laughing at punchlines to a forgotten joke
The ceiling is breathing, a slow, heavy rise
I’m watching the world through a stranger’s blue eyes
And everything’s loud, yet I can’t hear a word
Just the ghost of a song that I once might have heard.
​(Part IV: The Descent)
​If I fall through the cracks of this hardwood floor
Will I find the version of me from before?
Or is sanity just a thin, brittle thread
That snapped while I slept in this unmade bed?
I’m tracing the shadows, they’re longer than tall
They’re whispering secrets to cracks in the wall
They say that the sky is a screen that’s gone black
And once you go drifting, you never come back
I’m not even scared, which is the scariest part
I’m just a machine with a clock for a heart.
​(Part V: The Infinite Room)
​Minutes are hours and hours are grains
Of sand blowing through my electrical veins
I’ve built a cathedral of silence and glass
And I’m watching the shadows of memories pass
There goes a birthday, there goes a face
Folded and tucked in a nameless place
I’m losing the signal, the picture is blurred
I’m the only person who’s ever occurred
And the walls are expanding, a mile a breath
A beautiful, quiet, and digital death.
​(Part VI: The Final Loop)
​(Fading out, repetitive and haunting)
​I think I’m losing...
(The clocks are melting)
I think I’m losing...
(The Sundays are Tuesdays)
My hands are just echoes
My voice is a stain
I’m the ghost in the wire
I’m the rust in the rain.
​I think I’m...
(Still here?)
I think I’m...
(Somewhere else.)
​Soft hiss of static until silence.
​