The Woman by the Fire
Nova Rai · If I'm Around, 10 of 15
The story
I left the key on the hotel floor, the lights on, the red car on the hill. I had sung for thousands and for no one, and after every bow I wondered how a voice this loud could feel this small. Then through the cold I heard a fire, not applause, just a crackle, and my feet moved before my mind. Nobody there asked me to sing, and that is what broke me open. Home was never the loud room; it was the place where the fire doesn't ask you to be loud.
Lyrics
I left the key on the hotel floor
I left the lights on, I closed the door
I drove the red car down the hill
Past every stage I tried to fill
I sang for thousands, I sang for none
I sang to outrun what I'd become
A hurricane that couldn't land
A woman made of noise and sand
They loved the version that could scream
The cosmic girl, the neon dream
But after every final bow
I'd stand backstage and wonder how
A voice this loud could feel this small
A room this full could feel this tall
The walls would press, the silence spread
I'd call a stranger to my bed
Not for the touch. For the sound.
Someone breathing. Someone around.
Anything to fill the quiet
Anything to start a riot
In the nothing after the noise
I thought if I stopped moving I'd disappear.
That the silence would swallow me whole.
That without the stage, without the lights,
I was just a woman in an empty room
with a voice and nowhere to put it.
But then I heard it through the wall
A fire somewhere, a quiet call
Not applause, not a scream, not a crowd
Just a crackle, steady, not too loud
And my feet moved before my mind
Left the car, left the key behind
Walked the road in the frozen air
Didn't know where. Didn't care.
I'm not the hurricane tonight
I'm not the stage, I'm not the light
I'm just the woman by the fire
With nothing left but the desire
To sit. To breathe. To let the flame
Burn away my borrowed name
I don't need to fill the room
I just need the fire. And the moon.
There's a turtle here who doesn't speak
There's a raven with a crooked beak
There's a blue man looking at his toes
There's an old woman no one chose
Who's sleeping on a dead man's lap
There's a pilgrim folding up his map
And none of them asked me to sing
And none of them need anything
And that's the thing that broke me wide
Not the stage. Not the pride.
The quiet. And the fact that here
Nobody clapped. But someone's near.
Mmm mmm mmm...
Home was never the hotel room.
Home was never the screaming crowd.
Home was here.
Where the fire doesn't ask you to be loud.