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the narcissist cookbook - i think i’m going to leave my phone at home tonight كلمات الأغنية

[verse 1]
the ground underneath my feet
feels like it is crumbling away
and you were the only thing i had to hold on to
tonight i’ll go dancing alone
where n0body knows me
shake off the loneliness like snow off the shoulders of a winter coat

[chorus]
and when the music stops i’ll weigh up
whether i should call you
i think i’m gonna leave my phone at home tonight
cause i know that’s the kind of thing i might do

[verse 2]
the ground underneath my feet
it feels like it is dancing with me
and if i keep my eyes closed it’s like i’m on my own
sometimes you’ve just got to go
where n0body knows your name
lie in the loneliness like snow
spread out your arms and make an angel

[chorus]
and when the music stops i’ll weigh up
whether i should call you
i think i’m gonna leave my phone at home tonight
cause i know that’s the kind of thing i might do
[spoken]
what happens in your dreams?
when you dream about me?

[verse 3: spoken]
the city doesn’t look like any other
it is piled on top of itself
like layers of sediment
you follow a path that feels level enough
across roads and down alleys
and then, coming to a railing
you look over
and i see the roof of a dizzying cathedral beneath me
that ten minutes earlier i had been staring up at in wonder
this city is a curse on cartographers
bridges passing over bridges
streets stacked upon streets upon streets
parallel worlds that never quite meet
buildings larger inside than out
non_descript doors that lead, somehow, to entire, hidden towns
stairwells that stretch ever up
and ever down
and all of this
always
i strongly suspect
moving
and changing
when no one is around
this city sleeps
and it sleeps deeply
drawing long heavy breaths you might mistake for the growl of traffic
or the groan of machinery
and when it dreams
the empty streets swell with figments of its dreaming
like you
like me
you and me, we peer curiously down back alleys
we scale cathedrals and cling to their spires to crow with the gargoyles
we scratch dark prophecy into bathroom stall walls and answer calls on disconnected payphones
and through our eyes, and hearts, and mouths
the city begins to know itself
through our missed exits, bad calls, and wrong turns
it thoroughly, painstakingly, maps itself out

- the narcissist cookbook

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