Where the Swing Stands Still 1 by Pj11

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Where the Swing Stands Still 1 by Pj11 - Indie Folk music cover art

Where the Swing Stands Still 1

Pj11

Indie Folk

0:005:07
Lyrics
Description
Bridge
The first time I saw you, you were swinging on the rusted chain,
Back and forth like a metronome, laughing with the wind,
Sun-stitched gold into the tips of your hair, nothing to explain.
You looked like forever, like every could have been.
I kept the echo of that date folded in my coat,
A photograph in my pocket of a summer that never spoke,
But later there were two coffee rings on my kitchen top,
A lipstick smudge on a napkin where only one heart should stop.
The swing keeps moving in my memory, back and forth and still,
I thought that seat was ours, now it's only empty in the chill.
The second time I tried, you stood at my door, pretty as ever,
Perfume like a page turned, shoes wet from someone else's rain,
You smiled like I was home, but your eyes were clever,
At hiding the small footprints leading off the lane.
You spoke of weather, of small innocent names,
While my hands found the outlines of the notes your silence brings.
Anger, two names in your phone under the same moonlight,
Another life slipped through the doorway that used to be mine.
The swing that once cut the air now squeaks with someone else's thrill,
I pull the chain, it's rusted with the weight of what you will.
There was a moment like a photograph, a jacket on a chair,
A coffee ring that matched the one on his sleeve and a picture you shared.
I tasted the tangent of your story in a stranger's smile on my phone,
A screenshot, an address, a message I read and then I knew I was alone.
So let the iron creak, let the wind take back our song,
Two cups, two footsteps, something gentle turned wrong.
The swing stands still where we began, the playground keeps its chill.
I close the gate, walk past the rust and let the memory be still.
You were pretty as ever at the door and under the sun,
But pretty doesn't keep a promise, it only buries one.
I leave the park behind me with the tide of what I was,
And let the memory be still.
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