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{distant campfire crackling
layered with gentle finger-picked acoustic guitar}
Saturday night, living the dream on a borrowed ID
Pretending to care, the band is a scene,
it’s a debris
Boots on, heels carried,
stumbling through the field
Gin from the bottle,
the secrets we keep are sealed Smoke to choke the feeling,
till the walls drift away All we talk about is leaving,
all the words that we say {glitch-shimmer
on choke the feeling} {soft evocative rhythmic vocal} No matter how far
the signal travels or fades
This is the place,
the place where we were made
I know every streetlight,
every shadow, every shade
Fires on the beach,
the foundations we laid
Small town secrets, the oath that we keep No matter the distance,
the anchor is deep {layered harmony ethereal and lifting} {driving melodic indie-pop
beat}
Painting the face, hair straightened for the bus
Anywhere but home, the horizon calls to us
Poker in the shed,
ex-boys in the talk
Freezing in the cold,
the path we had to walk
All that I know is,
the distance is a lie
We’re built on the ghosts of the small-town sky {rapid-fire vocal chop
on
all that I know} {playful rhythmic delivery} Maybe the colours will fade.
Maybe the streetlights will blink out.
But this is where I was made.
{whisper very close-mic} {music drops to acoustic guitar and heartbeat
bass pulse}
Ooh-ooh...
100% Tiguidou.
The anchor is set.
{campfire crackling slowly fading into bus pulling away} {return to raw intimate
2am bedroom studio vibe warm and resolved}