FIRST PERSON

A night-shift mind on the last train home — who owns your voice when the shift ends.

"First person rents my mouth till five.

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FIRST PERSON lyrics

Artist-supplied lyric sheet, matched by title. The sheet may differ from this released performance. Production notes and alternate promotional cuts are omitted.

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Intro

Turnstile clicks; my lanyard taps my coat. Blue pen, sign-in sheet, one line to fill. I write my name the way my hand knows how. Upstairs, the glass waits with the headset foam.

Verse 1

Headset cups both ears; the red mic wakes. Glass puts my face beside a face I never meet. A breath comes first; I take it half a beat behind. He says "I"; I catch the shape, then match the time. Jaw keeps count while consonants cross my teeth. I lag, then close the gap before the line can leave. One phrase runs fast; I shorten air, not what it weighs. One phrase comes slow; my tongue stays in its lane. Legal pad gets arrows, dates, a slanted mark. Water waits beside my wrist, clear in the glass. I hold each "I" as if it came with a room key. It fits my mouth, but none of it belongs to me. I give it back on time, then take the next breath in. The clock moves on; another "I" comes through the glass.

Chorus

First person rents my mouth till five. I hold the key; I keep it live. At night that little room is mine.

Verse 2

By noon the pad has dents beneath the ink. One voice comes short and cold; each word lands harder than I think. I hold its "I" between my teeth and match the pace. An hour goes by; the next one comes in warm. Its tempo drops; more air sits in each small space. I do not add a gram or take a gram away. My temple taps; my jaw clicks time against the foam. The water glass goes clear, then empty, then just warm. A low ache climbs from hinge of jaw to ear. My thumb finds the cough switch under the console lip. I press clear.

Bridge

Three seconds. No guest inside my mouth. I let it go; the next breath is already there. Red mic on. I carry "I" again.

Chorus

First person rents my mouth till five. The key gets warm against my side. At night that little room is mine.

Verse 3

I tell myself, "Clock out." The red mic goes dark. Headset on the hook; the room gets back its air. Downstairs, blue pen waits beside the sign-out sheet. My name comes back beneath my name from morning. Two marks, one hand; the second one feels small. Lanyard in my bag, not hanging at my throat. Train doors close; I take one seat beside the glass. No foam, no red dot, no one inside my ear. I say "I" once, just checking how it fits. No lag to chase, no echo running after it. My jaw lets go; my tongue has nothing left to hold. One seat, one name, one first person riding home.

Outro

Tomorrow, this room takes tenants again. Tonight, the key comes home with me. I say "I." It stays.

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01 / The opening