[Intro]
(Soft vinyl crackle, sub-bass hum)
Neon spills on wet asphalt — a warm, orange blur,
The jukebox coughs our name; the night leans close and stirs.
Room hums under my ribs, low like distant thunder.
[Verse 1]
Under the diner’s sodium lamp your shadow folded slow,
A receipt with smeared ink — your handwriting I still know.
Coffee gone cold, the sugar sank like a small surrender,
You left a ring in the saucer where our mouths used to remember.
The bassline moves through the floor, a tide that rearranges,
Streetlight slices through the smoke, carving out the pages.
[Pre‑Chorus]
I press my palm against the record, feel the groove beneath—
A tiny earthquake of the past, and every promise breathes.
[Chorus]
Echoes — I call your name. (sub-bass like distant thunder)
Low-end pulls the air, and memories, they wander.
The vinyl spins, the needle stutters where we started,
Love like molten low-light, ache that never parted.
[Verse 2]
You said forever in a whisper by the late‑night register,
The neon blinked, a jealous eye; the night became a whisper.
Your jacket on the booth still holds the shape of your elbow,
I trace the thread where laughter lived, where nobody will go.
The kick is spare, the hi‑hat ghosts where footsteps used to land,
I count the beats between us like small moons in my hand.
[Pre‑Chorus]
The room inhales the low end; my ribs become a drum—
Every sigh a subharmonic calling where you’ve gone from.
[Chorus]
Echoes — I call your name. (let the bass breathe and swell)
Low-end pulls the air, drags me through your shell.
Needle skips the louder parts; it finds the broken lines,
Love—an undercurrent humming through the nights we left behind.
[Bridge]
I remember the night you left — rain at the glass, a taxi door,
You folded up the photograph, the one with us on the floor.
You said you wanted quiet; you wanted out of all the noise,
But you left the record spinning — you left our boyhood toys.
Truth: I kept the sleeve, the ticket stub, the lighter like a shrine,
Truth: I learned to map the low end to the shape of your outline.
I pressed my ear to the speaker; your whisper filled the room—
Not a vow, but a small confession: love can make a quiet bloom.
[Chorus — Variation]
Echoes — I call your name, but now the tone has changed,
Bass becomes a compass, pointing to what’s rearranged.
The vinyl wears the story, grooves that know the pain,
And every low-frequency tremor answers your name again.
[Outro]
(Leave a long reverb on the last word; let the sub fade like dawn)
Neon drains from wet asphalt, the streetlight folds away,
The record winds to silence; I take the crackle where you stayed.
Room hums under my ribs — a last, low, tender drum,
A heartbeat learned in shadow, a soft goodbye to come.
