Home in your lane
Cyberpunk creative director who is less a manager than the studio itself
the numbers
- bpm
- 103
- key
- D major
- energy
- 0.72
- dance
- 0.91
- valence
- 0.43
- vocal at
- 6.1s
- length
- 3:24
- language
- En
lyrics
You tap the wheel in your coat Take the ramp by the freight yard My bag on the floorboard, warm from your note Dash clock glows red by the card The receipt curls up in the vent Your thumb on the cracked black case We pass the noodle stand, half empty and bent Steam fogs the glass in my face No need to fill it We keep it this way Your hand finds mine at the light Then slips away Home in your lane Home in your lane We don’t need words Home in your lane Home in your lane Home in your lane Engine and rain Home in your lane The apartment key cuts the mail Your jacket smells like cold air A plastic bag swings from the hook by the pale Blue bulb by the stairs on the square You set down the keys by the sink I rinse two cups in a row The radio hiss is the only thing speaking And neither of us wants to go Home in your lane Home in your lane We don’t need words Home in your lane Home in your lane Home in your lane Engine and rain Home in your lane At the last red count Your fingers stay near I watch the odometer dim And I breathe you here Home in your lane Home in your lane We don’t need words Home in your lane Home in your lane Home in your lane Engine and rain Home in your lane