Track Insight / Lyrics
Cold white tiles in a perfect square,
Stale salt air in a sterile glare.
No green leaves or a potting shed,
Just a circuit where a root should spread.
Monstera grows in the humid heat,
But here the floor is a concrete sheet.
No loam to hold or a seed to sow,
Just a steady and a plastic glow.
One glass eye in a ceiling high,
Watching gold circles paint the sky.
Wait for a step or a sudden sound,
While the orange portal holds the ground.
A steady gaze like a patient vine,
Tracking a path in a rigid line.
No Latin name for this metal skin,
Where the hollow and the void begin.
One glass eye in a ceiling high,
Watching gold circles paint the sky.
Wait for a step or a sudden sound,
While the orange portal holds the ground.
Patience is a slow and heavy root,
Waiting for the ripened, heavy fruit.
A flicker in the lens, a tiny spark,
Lighting up the corner of the dark.
The air is thin and the light is lean,
The cleanest room that I have ever seen.
No peat to dig or a weed to pull,
But the hunger of the lens is full.
It keeps the watch with a steady beat,
Scanning the gloss of the tiled street.
A silent witness to a vacant hall,
Leaning deep against the whitewashed wall.
One glass eye in a ceiling high,
Watching gold circles paint the sky.
Wait for a step or a sudden sound,
While the orange portal holds the ground.
Just a glass eye.
Watching the gold.
(Hums)
