I am the box on the windowsill
Cold brass knobs and a dented grill
The Tiber breathes through cracked glass panes
Wait for the city to wake its veins
Morning static drinks the pale grey
Frequencies fold and drift away
No voice comes through but the church bell's cry
Roma wakes beneath a bruised sky
Pigeons shuffle on cathedral steps
Shake dew from wings in sudden bursts
My vacuum tubes glow soft and low
Warm as embers in morning snow
Morning static drinks the pale grey
Frequencies fold and drift away
No voice comes through but the church bell's cry
Roma wakes beneath a bruised sky
The baker kneads on flour-dusted wood
Scent rises where the cobblestones stood
I catch a fragment, French or German speech
Then lose it in the tide's cold reach
Morning static drinks the pale grey
Frequencies fold and drift away
No voice comes through but the church bell's cry
Roma wakes beneath a bruised sky
A Vespa coughs on Via del Corso
Engine sputters, a tired iron horse
The barista turns the heavy key
Steam rises for the first caffeine
I have heard the war and the wedding song
Carried voices where they don't belong
Now I wait for the espresso call
The strongest signal of them all
Copper wires hum in the wall's deep sleep
Dreams of signals they cannot keep
The square fills up with leather shoes
And morning static finds its use
Morning static drinks the pale grey
Frequencies fold and drift away
No voice comes through but the church bell's cry
Roma wakes beneath a bruised sky
Morning static drinks the pale grey
Roma wakes beneath a bruised sky
Morning static fades as Roma wakes
Clear signal on the morning break
