Laundry Room Lanes

(hmmm, hmmm)

You dial the number we used to share

A stranger's driving who-knows-where Taking the long way back home to breathe

Through laundry steam and quiet leaves

Warm dryer sheets and static cling

While old ghost tones begin to ring

On the dash the time stays still

Zero twelve against the chill

A voice memo frozen on the screen

The softest space we've ever been

And we are spinning in the summer air

Like wet clay turning on a wheel somewhere

Holding on until the shape is right

Underneath the heavy evening light (oh-oh-oh,

we spin)

Your laundry room is warm and bright While they park beneath the

yellow light

Listening to the silent air

Wondering who used to be there

Keeping the ghost line safe and sound

While our old world spins around

Zero twelve is still alive

On a late-night summer drive

(hmmm,

zero twelve)