I Turn The Radio Down In My Mind

作词 : Chris Chow

作曲 : Chris Chow

Snow on the windshield

I can hear my thoughts like static.

Midnight on the interstate, heaters breathing dust,

A cherry-red horizon where the neon learns to rust.

Your hand on the steering wheel, my boots on the dash,

We're driving through a postcard that the fifties couldn't cash.

A blue motel sign flickers like a tired lullaby,

VACANCY in slow motion, blinking at the sky.

I watch my reflection in the glass, fade in and out.

Like I'm arguing with a ghost I can't live without.

I've been making movies in my head again,

Turning every silence into evidence.

But the snow don't care, it just falls and falls.

And I'm done taking calls from imaginary wars.

So I turn the radio down in my mind,

Let the white night do what it does unbind.

Not every thought deserves a crown,

Not every fear should stick around.

Don't feed the fire, let it die.

We look better under quiet skies.

I don't need to win what never happened,

I don't need to bleed for a caption.

Tonight I'm leaving all that noise behind.

I turn the radio down in my mind.

We pull into a diner where the coffee tastes like years,

Jukebox in the corner humming heartbreak in my ears.

Waitress with a beehive hair, lipstick like a flare,

She smiles like she's seen a thousand girls pretend they didn't care.

Outside, the parking lot is quiet as a church,

Snow piling on the hood like unspoken, harmless words.

I used to count my flaws like coins in my purse,

Now I let them sink like headlights in the slush.

I've been paying interest on a what if loan,

Building little prisons out of monochrome.

But your laugh cuts through like warm cassette tape.

And the past can't hold me if I stop helping it escape.

So I turn the radio down in my mind,

Let the white night do what it does unbind.

Not every thought deserves a crown,

Not every fear should stick around.

Don't feed the fire, let it die.

We look better under quiet skies.

Quiet skies.

I don't need to win what never happened,

I don't need to bleed for a caption.

Tonight I'm leaving all that noise behind.

I turn the radio down in my mind.

Backseat of a cheap motel, curtains breathing blue,

TV throws a silver glow across your collarbone tattoo.

Some old parade on channel five, confetti, marching bands.

Like the country's still in love with all its promised lands.

I used to chase that shining thing, the perfect magazine,

Till I learned the brightest billboards don't say what they mean.

So if my heart gets loud, I'll treat it like the weather.

Let it pass, let it move, we don't have to live there forever.

I turn the radio down in my mind,

Let the snow fall clean, let it realign.

Not every thought deserves a crown,

Not every fear should stick around.

Don't feed the fire, let it die.

We look better under quiet skies.

I turn the radio down in my mind,

I turn the radio down in my mind,

And finally no courtroom in my head.

This is Chrisongs.