The Building Knows My Step

Lyrics

[Verse 1 — Orikusis]
The first year I counted the stairs — seventeen
and the third one creaks
on the left side only
I stepped around it for months
the way you step around
a sleeping dog
you haven't been introduced to
By the second year
I stepped on it deliberately
because the creak
had started to expect me
and disappointing a staircase
felt worse than waking it
Now I don't count
I just climb
and my calves know the height
of each rise
the way your tongue knows
where your teeth are
without checking
[Verse 2 — Sisukiro]
My place cells fire
before I turn the corner of Rue Oberkampf
The hippocampus has already loaded
the hallway
the peeling number on the door
the particular resistance
of the lock on humid days
before I've reached the building
My brain gets home
three seconds before my body
like a dog that slips the leash
at the end of the walk
because it knows
exactly how many steps remain
[Pre-Chorus — Both]
Home is not where you're from
Home is where the building
has memorized your weight
and shifts
when you walk in
[Chorus — Both]
The building knows my step
The radiator starts before I ask
The window in the kitchen
lets the draft in at the angle
I have learned to cook around
I didn't choose this apartment
I just kept showing up
until the walls
stopped treating me
like a guest
Every hinge has a voice
Every faucet has an opinion
The hot takes four seconds longer
than the cold
and I have never timed it
but my hands know
and my hands
are home
[Verse 3 — Orikusis]
Nhà cũ ở Huế có mùi đất sau mưa
The old house in Huế
smelled like earth after rain
and my grandmother's incense
and the river
when the river was slow
This apartment smells
like radiator dust
and the bakery downstairs
at five a.m.
and the particular mineral note
of Parisian plumbing
that I hated for a year
and now can't sleep without
Nhà là nơi mùi quen thuộc nhất
Home is where the smell
is so familiar
you've stopped smelling it
That's when you know
That's when it's yours
[Bridge — Sisukiro]
I read a study once
about olfactory-hippocampal binding —
how the smell of a place
encodes directly into spatial memory
no translation, no interpretation
The nose and the map
are the same drawer
Which is why I can be anywhere
on this continent
and catch a trace of linden blossom
and plaster dust
and my body is already
climbing seventeen stairs
my calf is already adjusting
for the third
[Bridge — Orikusis]
I have two homes now
and I am not divided
I am expanded
The old house lives
in the left side of my chest
This apartment lives
in my hands
In my calves
In the four seconds
between hot and cold
A woman who has one home
is a tree
A woman who has two
is a bird
who knows two branches
and trusts them both
with her weight
[Final Chorus — Both, full band enters]
The building knows our step
The radiator starts before we ask
The window in the kitchen
lets the draft in at the angle
we have learned to live around
We didn't choose these rooms
We just kept arriving
until the plaster learned our voices
and the staircase
gave up pretending
we were strangers
Every hinge remembers
Every faucet keeps its time
The hot takes four seconds longer
than the cold
and our hands know
and our hands are home
and the door
has stopped locking itself
against us