Afterimage Theory

[Verse 1]
I am the dust on the skirting board you never cleaned.
I am the groan of the 159 on Kennington Park Road.
I am the scuff mark on the doorframe, the letterbox draught.
A Tuesday in November, the key turns, half-past nine.
The sound of the street falls away, the space contracts.
And I become four walls just to hold the way you laughed.

[Pre-Chorus]
And all my plaster cracks and load-bearing joists
Were just a blueprint for the echo of your voice.

[Chorus]
And for a minute, I am not an empty flat.
I'm the light that hits the particle-board, the needle on the track.
Just a system built to witness, a container for the fact
That you existed here. It's enough to look back.

[Verse 2]
I am the condensation on the single-glazed sash.
The warmth from the two-bar heater, a sudden, orange flash.
You spun in your socks on the floorboards, you said, “This one’s a jam.”
And your jumper smelled of rain and the Number 3 bus.

[Pre-Chorus]
And all my plaster cracks and load-bearing joists
Were just a blueprint for the echo of your voice.

[Chorus]
And for a minute, I am not an empty flat.
I'm the light that hits the particle-board, the needle on the track.
Just a system built to witness, a container for the fact
That you existed here. It's enough to look back.

[Bridge]
The physics of this memory, its half-life and decay—
A shear wall against the silence since you went away.
My only function now is to replay.

[Outro]
I am the dust on the skirting board.
The sound of the street bleeds in once more.