Track Insight / Lyrics
Dust motes dance in fading light,
A glass box humming through the night.
Forgotten numbers, stories told,
In paper whispers, growing old.
You step inside, a sudden chill,
The scent of time standing still.
A chipped Formica, worn and gray,
Where voices echoed yesterday.
The phone booth breathes a dusty sigh,
Another nickel passing by.
Yellowed pages, brittle and thin,
Holding the ghosts of where you've been.
A lifeline lost to modern grace,
A forgotten smile in a lonely place.
Pick up the receiver, dial a dream,
Lost connections, it would seem.
The phonebooks stacked, a golden hue,
Names and numbers, known to few.
A plumber's promise, a baker's plea,
Lives unfolding for you and me.
A faded ad for a seaside stay,
Washed by memories of yesterday.
Yellowed pages, brittle and thin,
Holding the ghosts of where you've been.
A lifeline lost to modern grace,
A forgotten smile in a lonely place.
Pick up the receiver, dial a dream,
Lost connections, it would seem.
Rain streaks down the glass so clear,
Washing away another year.
A crumpled ticket, a postcard worn,
Echoes of laughter, newly born.
The city whispers, a mournful sound,
Lost conversations all around.
Yellowed pages, brittle and thin,
Holding the ghosts of where you've been.
A lifeline lost to modern grace,
A forgotten smile in a lonely place.
Pick up the receiver, dial a dream,
Lost connections, it would seem.
A taxi driver, passing slow,
Sees the stories come and go.
Each call a moment, brief and bright,
Flickering softly in the night.
He knows this box, this quiet space,
A relic fading from this place.
Yellowed pages, brittle and thin,
Holding the ghosts of where you've been.
A lifeline lost to modern grace,
A forgotten smile in a lonely place.
Pick up the receiver, dial a dream,
Lost connections, it would seem.
The glass reflects a weary face,
Lost in time, in this forgotten space.
Yellowed pages softly fall,
Answering no one's call.
Answering no one's call.
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