Falling, through the smoke of a midnight scream,
your name’s a scratch in the groove of my soul—
I keep spinning, backwards, deeper,
horn stabs like lightning in my chest.
Ain’t no parachute, just your echo pulling me,
faster, harder, through the floor of the world;
every scream I ever held back
now rides the falsetto, ripping the night.
I’m falling, baby, falling—
and the fall tastes like forever.