Empty seats
v4
@Amir Abdi
Empty seats
v4
@Amir Abdi
Lyrics
[Intro — spoken, deadpan]
They hand out couples like programs in the lobby.
I pretend to read mine.
---
[Verse 1]
I learned to smile like a borrowed thing,
Practice curves for audiences of one.
Streetlights stitch a broken lullaby,
And every happy face is a small report card—failed.
You can tell the lovers by the way they blink,
Two-blink, sync: a private language.
I copy it in the mirror, then cough the lesson up,
Because mimicry is cheaper than the real thing.
---
[Pre-Chorus]
I keep a list of polite lies I tell myself,
Like “you'll laugh about this someday” — neat and dry.
It folds into a fortune-teller's napkin,
No predictions, only unreadable creases.
---
[Chorus]
There are empty seats at my dinner table,
And every toast is someone else's name.
I clap for strangers' little coronations,
A spectator with the last page lost.
I hum along to other people's choruses,
Mouth the words but never mind the tune.
It's a gentle sort of violence—
Watching the world pair off like it's on cue.
---
[Verse 2]
I keep my invitations in an unlabeled box,
They smell like thrift-store rain and late regret.
Sometimes I ring the bell just to hear it sound,
But nobody answers for me.
You'd think I'd be used to the echo by now,
But echo has a memory of warmth it will not share.
So I invent a laugh that sounds like courage,
And tuck the true one under my coat.
---
[Bridge — bitter, small smile]
You say “just be yourself” like it's a map,
But maps don't tell you which bridges burned.
I auditioned for comfort and got ghosts instead,
They fit, in a way—thin, polite, and blue.
---
[Chorus — reprise, colder]
There are empty seats at my dinner table,
Silverware set for names I never learned.
I watch two people fit into a photograph,
And I let my mouth form the right amount of grief.
I clap for them until my hands forget the shape of mine,
Applause becomes my daily costume.
I keep my hope in small, honest jars—
Labelled “Maybe Later,” “Not Tonight,” “Try Again.”
---
[Outro — short, unresolved]
Sometimes I leave the light on, not because I wait,
But because I like to prove nothing is permanent.
If you ever find me in a crowded room,
Look for the one with a smile rehearsed—I'll be the echo.
They hand out couples like programs in the lobby.
I pretend to read mine.
---
[Verse 1]
I learned to smile like a borrowed thing,
Practice curves for audiences of one.
Streetlights stitch a broken lullaby,
And every happy face is a small report card—failed.
You can tell the lovers by the way they blink,
Two-blink, sync: a private language.
I copy it in the mirror, then cough the lesson up,
Because mimicry is cheaper than the real thing.
---
[Pre-Chorus]
I keep a list of polite lies I tell myself,
Like “you'll laugh about this someday” — neat and dry.
It folds into a fortune-teller's napkin,
No predictions, only unreadable creases.
---
[Chorus]
There are empty seats at my dinner table,
And every toast is someone else's name.
I clap for strangers' little coronations,
A spectator with the last page lost.
I hum along to other people's choruses,
Mouth the words but never mind the tune.
It's a gentle sort of violence—
Watching the world pair off like it's on cue.
---
[Verse 2]
I keep my invitations in an unlabeled box,
They smell like thrift-store rain and late regret.
Sometimes I ring the bell just to hear it sound,
But nobody answers for me.
You'd think I'd be used to the echo by now,
But echo has a memory of warmth it will not share.
So I invent a laugh that sounds like courage,
And tuck the true one under my coat.
---
[Bridge — bitter, small smile]
You say “just be yourself” like it's a map,
But maps don't tell you which bridges burned.
I auditioned for comfort and got ghosts instead,
They fit, in a way—thin, polite, and blue.
---
[Chorus — reprise, colder]
There are empty seats at my dinner table,
Silverware set for names I never learned.
I watch two people fit into a photograph,
And I let my mouth form the right amount of grief.
I clap for them until my hands forget the shape of mine,
Applause becomes my daily costume.
I keep my hope in small, honest jars—
Labelled “Maybe Later,” “Not Tonight,” “Try Again.”
---
[Outro — short, unresolved]
Sometimes I leave the light on, not because I wait,
But because I like to prove nothing is permanent.
If you ever find me in a crowded room,
Look for the one with a smile rehearsed—I'll be the echo.
Style of Music
Dark-pop ballad with sarcastic bite—moody synth pads, pulsing bass, crisp snares, minimal guitar delay. Female vocal: tired, smoky, bittersweet—half confession, half smirk, breaking on the edges.
