Permit of Residence

[Verse 1]
Tuesday, at the Hôtel de ville in Saint-Gilles,
the marble feels cold on the back of my hand.
I’m watching the dust drift over the window sills,
like a language I'm starting to understand.
They gave me a number, a ticket to wait,
and a pen on a chain at the back of the room.

[Chorus]
This is the part where the light comes back
A hairline crack is not a collapse
I can feel it through the floor

[Verse 2]
There's a rust stain shaped like the Belgian coast
on the radiator pipes that run along the wall.
You left your spare key, that's the thing I miss most,
just the sound it would make dropping in the hall.
“C'est juste du papier,” you said on the phone.
The silence that followed was a load-bearing sound.

[Chorus]
This is the part where the light comes back
A hairline crack is not a collapse
I can feel it through the floor

[Bridge]
Am I making this up?
This exhausted hope
Is the scaffolding strong enough?

[Outro]
I can feel it.
I can feel it through the floor.