Tonight I passed a house that I thought we should live in. Not that one, but another like it. We could build one bigger, or keep it modest so that there isn’t a distant echo between us, just our soft dyad. So I’ve come to find the songs have stopped playing and the vinyl switched to off so that the welcoming crackling of a needle-waiting-to-drop is now unrelenting silence; the equivalent of leaving the light on to greet you when you’re coming home. But I walked into the darkness of an empty lighthouse.
America
America
America
Tonight I passed a house that I thought we should live in. Not that one, but another like it. We could build one bigger, or keep it modest so that there isn’t a distant echo between us, just our soft dyad. So I’ve come to find the songs have stopped playing and the vinyl switched to off so that the welcoming crackling of a needle-waiting-to-drop is now unrelenting silence; the equivalent of leaving the light on to greet you when you’re coming home. But I walked into the darkness of an empty lighthouse.