Track Insight / Lyrics
I hang on the attic beam
brass rust like cinnamomea on moss
No tick—just the slow breath of a potted *Quercus robur* that sways,
The dust on my face smells
of pine needles and dried Saxifraga
Grandfather's wrist once warmed by his fingers, now the wind sighs alone.
It's a lonely hourglass the empty
tick tock like a violin falling slow
Strings of spider web decide my
fate they vibrate through cracked wood
I feel the soil's cool pulse against
my band patient as a blooming Acer
If only the quartet could sing this broken cadence back.
I remember his palm pressed over my face, a gentle *Helianthus* touch,
His breath smelled of wet earth after a summer storm, steady as a gavial leaf,
Now I'm stuck between seasons, rusted gears humming like gnats in the night,
Awaiting another farmer's hand to turn me back to life.
It's a lonely hourglass, the empty tick‑tock like a violin falling slow,
Strings of spider web decide my
fate they vibrate through cracked wood
I feel the soil's cool pulse against
my band patient as a blooming Acer
If only the quartet could sing this broken cadence back.
