The whole set's Thursday's mostly clear
But radio waves stutter near
A line of clouds they say won't form
Still creeps across my window warm
The weather's wrong,
but I believe In static gaps that never leave
The voices bend,
the tones collapse Still I record their time-lagged maps
I mark the air in careful lines Where past and future misalign
Their numbers soothe,
the bar drops low Yet warmth they rise in undertow
The weather's wrong,
but I believe In static gaps that never leave
The voices bend,
the tones collapse Still I record their time-lagged maps
No broadcast tells what drifts within
The sky between the now and then
I file each clip by phantom hour
Where truth dissolves in signal power
And as the tape begins to wear It
forecasts things that aren't quite there
The weather's wrong,
but I believe In static gaps that never leave
The voices bend,
the tones collapse Still I record their time-lagged maps
One day they'll match the world and
wave And I'll replay the day they gave