[Verse 1]
Morning porch, worn frets, coffee steaming slow,
Palm prints on the wood where my loose chords go.
Mail on the step, a folded map, a borrowed train,
Callus on my thumb, the town still hums your name.
Crows on the wire, old vinyl on the chair,
Sun finds the grain, finds the dust in your hair.
I count the small shapes of the life we almost kept,
A pocketknife, a ticket stub, the words I left.
[Pre-Chorus]
Then the sky flips neon—pulse catches the light,
Humming like a wire, a current through the night.
Where breath meets circuit, my small heart learns to fight,
Wood and wire collide and everything feels right.
[Chorus]
Neon bonfires—burn the dark to gold,
Neon bonfires—warm the stories we told.
Wood smoke and static, my old maps unfold,
Neon bonfires—this heat won't let me go.
[Verse 2]
Dust in the guitar case, sand in the seam,
A diner, a streetlamp, an unrecorded dream.
Leather jacket, thrift-store patch, a crooked pin,
I hum the old refrain and let the new begin.
Beneath my ribs a meter, beneath my feet a beat,
Barefoot through the alley where the city and country meet.
I trace the scar on my palm where the needle fell once more,
Familiar as the porchlight and the backdoor floor.
[Pre-Chorus]
Now synths thread through the chorus, a neon seam,
Like starlight tapped on copper, quick and clean.
The current writes a sentence on my skin,
A promise and a warning where the two worlds spin.
[Chorus - Variation]
Neon bonfires—burn the dark to gold,
Neon bonfires—watch the old maps fold.
Static like a lighthouse, pulsing through my soul,
Neon bonfires—this heat is how I grow.
[Bridge]
I kept a folded letter that said "stay a while",
Tucked beneath the pickguard, folded once, then twice.
I set it on the sill and watched the wind compile
A small bright hunger that unstitched my life.
I risked the steady comfort for the wire's bright call—
Gave up a warm roof for the thunder of the mall.
If I lose everything, I lose what tethers me,
But if I lose the fear, I taste the things that free.
[Chorus - Final, Lifted]
Neon bonfires—burn the dark to gold,
Neon bonfires—this story I retold.
Wood smoke and circuits, a heartbeat grown bold,
Neon bonfires—I've traded cold for glow.
[Outro]
On the porch the frets sit quiet, the morning's thin and fine,
Down the block the neon hums like a second kind of shrine.
I fold my maps and strike the match, step into the light,
Neon bonfires in my chest—I'll keep them through the night.
