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Lyrics
I keep a light inside the room,
A little ghost of me and you.
The night is moving, I stay still,
Holding on against my will.
Every street remembers us,
Every rain, every dust.
I hear your voice in passing cars,
I see your face in fading stars.
I’m going back, back to you,
To the days we never knew
Would turn to gold, then disappear,
Leaving only echoes here.
I’m going back, back to you,
Living in the afterglow.
All I have is what we knew,
I’m still lost in memories of you.
Time goes on, but I don’t move,
Dancing with the thought of you.
Every heartbeat pulls me near
To a love that isn’t here.
I close my eyes and you return,
Like a fire that doesn’t burn.
Soft and distant, warm and blue,
I am only there with you.
I’m going back, back to you,
To the days we never knew
Would turn to gold, then disappear,
Leaving only echoes here.
I’m going back, back to you,
Living in the afterglow.
All I have is what we knew,
I’m still lost in memories of you.
Don’t wake me from this dream,
Don’t take the past from me.
It’s all that still feels true,
It’s where I’m close to you.
Back to you,
Back to you,
I keep falling
Back to you.
Back to you,
Back to you,
I keep living
In memories of you.
The idea#
A light kept on in an empty room; a ghost of “me and you” that refuses eviction. The night moves; the speaker does not. Streets, rain, dust, passing cars—ordinary city matter—become storage for a face that time has already demoted to afterglow.
The refrain is not reunion so much as retreat: back to you, into days that turned gold only in retrospect, then vanished into echoes. Closing the eyes restores a fire that “doesn’t burn”—warmth without risk, presence without the other person. Vocal trance can make that loop feel luminous, almost merciful.
And yet the mercy is also a trap. “Don’t wake me” is a plea against recovery. Memory becomes the only climate that still feels true, which is beautiful and a little devastating. The track keeps falling toward someone who is already gone.
