Porch Light

The porch light buzzes like a dying wasp.

My keys are cold and foreign in my palm.

The hallway breathes out rain and old perfume.

Every room is a photograph I burned.

Chorus

I am the draft beneath the door.

I am the stain across the floor.

Nobody calls and nobody knocks.

I am the hour after the clock.

The kitchen tap drips a slow, patient grief.

A cup sits lonely like a small white grave.

The window holds the shadow I outgrew.

I wave at him but he just turns away.

Chorus

I am the draft beneath the door.

I am the stain across the floor.

Nobody calls and nobody knocks.

I am the hour after the clock.

Bridge

The bed is a boat with no river beneath.

The dark is a coat stitched from old teeth.

I used to pray to a god made of light.

Now I just wait for the ache to go quiet.

Chorus

I am the hum inside the wire.

I am the ash left from the fire.

Nobody writes and nobody stays.

I am the blur at the edge of days.

Outro

Morning shows up like a hospital bill.

I pull the shade down and I lie still.

The house remembers me wrong.

The house remembers me wrong.