"Static on the stairwell
Voltage in your sleeve
Dust across the landing
In patterns we believe
North by north of nowhere
Compass out of phase
We trace the quiet tremors
In ordinary days
There’s a hum beneath us
Low and undefined
Coordinates of feeling
We never quite align
Pre-Chorus
Turn the dial a fraction
Hold the signal still
There’s something in the silence
Running through the hill
Chorus
We are mapping invisible things
Circuits under the skin
Drawing lines in quiet ink
Where the currents begin ..."
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