Track Insight / Lyrics
I am the brass rung that
ticks in sync with the tide
The wooden floorboards beneath keep my every pulse.
On the shelf, a silver receiver gathers stray waves.
A voice knits itself into the silence, like wind in a broken mast.
There was a call from sea, a sailor named Amos.
His words were framed by gull cries and rain on the hull.
I secured the message in a silent lock of glass.
But it never wakes the lantern, it never roars like a storm.
It's an answer that rings in the lantern's hollow dark.
The timbre of his footsteps leaks out when the fog lifts.
I hold the sound between my iron ribs, a stubborn silence.
Fingers fail to press, his voice stays captive in my frame.
Unlike the gull's cry that cuts the salt‑spiced air, the voicemail stays mute.
I stand on the pier of days, no replay, no melody.
Even the waves refuse to coax the sound out.
My lantern waits for a touch that never comes.
The ghost of Amos lingers in the iron beat.
In the hush of night, his voice waits for a call.
I host the sound, the stubborn keeper of a silent note.
In every tide, I keep his voicemail in my keeper's grip.
