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Mid-Shuffle 1 by Genie

SongGPT
Mid-Shuffle 1 by Genie - Indie,female vocals music cover art

Mid-Shuffle 1

Indie,female vocals

0:003:33
Lyrics
Description
(verse)
I salt the threshold with violets & mica—talisman against the clockwork grin of daylight.
Pavement sighs, albescent, recalling magma under a frostbitten moon.
Coins blistered by vending-machine prayers jostle a vertebra I shed last winter.
Say that buzzing filament is circuitry, not augury—a lamp, moth-haunted, not a sermon.
(pre-chorus)
My spine ticks like tarot in a restless shuffle; mapless, I lean on a hinge I’ve only met sleeping.
(chorus)
Hold my wrist before the card can slip—face-up / face-down, I’m still mid-shuffle.
Call the fall a flight if your throat can bear it; swear the bruise will witness I was real.
If the tide eats my outline, redraw me in salt—violet, granular, stubborn.
Hold my wrist before the card can slip—face-up / face-down, I’m still mid-shuffle.
(verse)
Iron slicks my tongue from chewing a scream no one ordered.
Cicadas tick—metronomes too slow for panic, too quick for sleep.
I catalogue lacunae: the alley where courage fermented, the gutter where apology thinned,
a mailbox where I mailed myself home, return-to-sender stamped in marrow ink.
(pre-chorus)
You claim risk conjugates alone; I answer with a glass word—fragile, ringing—
spinning between our ribs, humming even after the lights go quiet.
(bridge)
Glass opens marrow; psaltery vowels surf sodium dusk.
Copper on my teeth, ozone on my breath—the syntax of storms.
Breaths tallied like stitches, patient as honey fermenting.
(instrumental solo)
(no lyric)
(final chorus)
Hold my wrist before the card can slip—face-up / face-down, I’m still mid-shuffle.
Call the fall a flight if your throat can bear it; swear the bruise will witness I was real.
If the tide eats my outline, redraw me in salt—violet, granular, stubborn.
Hold my wrist before the card can slip—face-up / face-down, I’m still mid-shuffle.
(outro)
Harmonics flicker like phosphorescent minnows; I hum a note that won’t resolve—
some doors relent only when you stop interrogating the hinge.
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