Threads on Mercer Street 1 by Emmanuel

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Threads on Mercer Street 1 by Emmanuel - pop rock music cover art

Threads on Mercer Street 1

Emmanuel

pop rock

0:002:57
Lyrics
Description
at dawn on mercer street the bakery's blinds roll up,
a bell rings, steam on the sidewalk, you light your cigarette.
there’s a chipped blue cup on the windowsill—your favorite cup,
you laugh, i spill my words and try to hide the things i meant.
the bus sighs by the corner, you say the weather’s clear,
but in your eyes i read the route you swear you never learned.
we are the threads on mercer street—pulled tight, then let go,
stitched into the margins of a map nobody knows.
hold on—these threads will not untie, they only re-know,
we mend the seams with louder songs, and let the colors show.
you bring a folded photograph, rain on the back like ink,
a subway token, thumbprints, the night you chose to sink.
we keep the broken postcards in a shoebox by my door,
read them in the dark and count the ways we wanted more.
you say you're headed north, the light is leaning thin,
i ask which train you’ll take; you smile—don’t ask me to begin.
we are the threads on mercer street—pulled tight, then let go,
stitched into the margins of a map nobody knows.
hold on—these threads will not untie, they only re-know,
we mend the seams with louder songs, and let the colors show.
one night you left a note between the mustard and the keys:
“i need to see the ocean, i'm sorry for the quiet seas.”
i stood on cracked pavement, the city held its breath,
choice hung like an old lightbulb—flicker, break, or let it set.
i almost walked the tracks to find the shape you disappeared,
but found instead the courage in the clothes we’d always feared.
i pulled the shoebox close, i tied the scarf you left behind,
not to keep you from the road—but to carry you in kind.
we are the threads on mercer street—no longer just a tie,
they braid the torn and brilliant parts, they teach the why and why.
hold on—these threads became a map of where we grow,
we stitch the past into the future, and let the true light show.
at dusk the bakery blinds sweep down, the bell hums soft and low,
footsteps fold into the night—some endings make a home.
so if you find a chipped blue cup, a token, a folded note,
know every thread we left behind is how we learned to float.
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