Lyrics
[Verse 1] You left your name inside the museum guestbook Beneath a sketch no one came to see I found the page when the guards changed shifts Your handwriting still had a pulse for me The curator called it a minor work A blue-black figure bending toward the floor But i knew that posture, knew that quiet You were always reaching past the frame for more [Pre-Chorus] I traced the date with my thumbnail Like a map beneath the dust Some things survive the closing hour Some things only wait for us [Chorus] If you’re still somewhere under that borrowed name I won’t ask the world to give you back I’ll leave one blank page in the catalogue For the part of you they couldn’t catalog And if you hear my footsteps cross the marble Know i came with nothing to defend Just a little blue ink, a room gone dark And the nerve to let the story bend [Verse 2] There was a note about the missing pigment A color buried deep in mineral stone The artist swore it held a kind of weather That only showed when no one stood alone So i stayed until the last train emptied Till the painted faces lost their borrowed light Then your shape moved softly through the canvas Not a ghost, just someone choosing not to hide [Pre-Chorus] I traced the date with my thumbnail Felt the paper take my touch Maybe being found is not the same As being needed quite so much [Chorus] If you’re still somewhere under that borrowed name I won’t ask the world to give you back I’ll leave one blank page in the catalogue For the part of you they couldn’t catalog And if you hear my footsteps cross the marble Know i came with nothing to defend Just a little blue ink, a room gone dark And the nerve to let the story bend [Bridge] No grand return, no clean confession No silver frame around the truth Just your name refusing erasure And mine learning what it means to lose [Final chorus] If you’re still somewhere under that borrowed name Let the silence keep its shape tonight I’ll leave one blank page in the catalogue Not to claim you, only mark the light And if you hear my footsteps cross the marble I’ll be gone before the doors descend With a little blue ink on my fingers And the nerve to let the story bend [Outro] The page stays open The page stays open For what we never had to mend
