Track Insight / Lyrics
I found a yellowed spine on the back seat's worn carpet.
Moldy pages smelled like last night's rain never left.
Someone's scrawl in cramped ink ran from margin to margin.
The glass reflected a neon sign I barely remembered.
I tipped the book in one
hand while the other held the wheel
A single coffee cup lay beside it, its steam curling upward.
I traced the looping words with my thumb, felt the scratch of every line.
The city outside hummed a low, steady bass through cracked glass.
In the mutter of the margin's tale, I heard a city clock tick.
The book's corners creaked like a tired streetlamp's flicker.
It carried the scent of lampposts and a distant train whistle.
I listened, heartbeats echoing two minutes to midnight.
When the last word faded I
settled it beside a charity box
The night air smelled of wet asphalt and burnt sugar from the grill.
I tucked the book back into the leather seat, a quiet promise.
In the dim glow of the dashboard, I thanked the quiet night.
