Song 1 · a3i
Dot, Dot, Dot
Half past eleven, a quiet flat, and the nicest photograph she had. She writes to a stranger, watches the three little dots appear and disappear, and learns how terrible and lovely it is to believe one more time — until one Tuesday the phone lies face-down on the table for three whole hours.
It's half past eleven and the flat is much too quietI chose the nicest photograph I hadIt's from a summer when my hair was long and shiningAnd I looked happy — and I think I really was
Now I'm writing to a stranger, saying here I amAnd I wonder who is reading this tonightIs he sitting in a kitchen somewhere, tired like meWith the same blue little screen against his face
And the minutes go so slowlyWhen you're waiting for a signOh, I'm holding on to nothingBut I'm holding it so tight
Dot, dot, dot — is somebody there?In the middle of the night, does somebody care?I can see you typing and you disappearDot, dot, dot — is somebody there?
I don't need forever, I don't need a ringI just need a little light to come on in the darkDot, dot, dot — is somebody there?
I've been sitting in the car park for a quarter of an hourWatching all the happy people going inAnd I look just like my picture — oh, I hope that he does tooAnd my heart is doing something to my chest
And he's kinder than I hoped for and he holds the door for meAnd we talk about our children and our workAnd for one and a half hours I forget to be afraidAnd I think — oh, I think this could be something good
And it's terrible and lovelyThis believing one more timeOh, I'm holding on to nothingBut I'm holding it so tight
Dot, dot, dot — is somebody there?In the middle of the night, does somebody care?I can see you typing and you disappearDot, dot, dot — is somebody there?
I don't need forever, I don't need a ringI just need a little light to come on in the darkDot, dot, dot — is somebody there?
He was kind about it — that's the part that hurts"It was lovely, but I didn't feel a thing"And I read it twenty times to find another meaningAnd there wasn't one — there never really is
And the dots came up at midnight and they stayed a little whileAnd I sat there like a girl of seventeenThen they vanished, and the room was very quietAnd I told myself I never needed anything
Then a Tuesday, nothing special, just a coffee in the rainAnd he laughed before I finished with the jokeAnd he asked me what I wanted — not the job, the actual thingAnd nobody had asked me that in years
And the phone lay on the table and it stayed there, face-down, darkAnd it didn't say a word for three whole hoursOh, I'm much too old for feeling how I'm feeling nowAnd I don't care, I don't care, I don't care
Dot, dot, dot — there is somebody there!In the middle of the night there is somebody thereAnd I'm not gonna wonder and I'm not gonna fearDot, dot, dot — there is somebody there
I don't need forever, I don't need a ringI just needed one small light to come on in the darkDot, dot, dot — there is somebody thereOh, there's somebody there
Dot, dot, dot — there is somebody there(is somebody there, is somebody there)Dot, dot, dot — there is somebody there(oh, there's somebody there...)
Song 2 · a3i
Take The House
Twelve minutes early, straightening a reflection in a shop window. A first date is a house viewing: you light the better rooms and keep the cellar politely closed. He loves it — and then the phone becomes a weather station that never changes. A song about offering all of yourself and getting back one evening.
Take the keysTwelve minutes early, standing in the glassOf a shopfront, watching all the strangers pass,Straightening a stranger who is mostly me,With a smile I have rehearsed quite carefully,And I file the sharpest edges off my pastTill it fits inside a coffee cup at last.
Then you come around the cornerAnd I feel the weighing start —That soft arithmeticBehind a beating heart.Someone's turning over fruitTo find the bruise inside,And I'm standing here wide openWith nowhere left to hide.
So I open up the house and light the better rooms,And the cellar stays politely closed to you,And you walk it end to end and knock along the walls,And you tell me that you love it — and it's true.
And I'm standing in the hallwayWith my hand out, holding keys —Take the house, oh take the house,Won't somebody take the house from me.
Well, two hours ran like water through a hand,And you laughed before I got to where I'd planned,And we stood too long outside for people leaving,In the honest yellow work of that late evening,And you said that we should do this all again,And I believed you. Oh, I always do. And then —
Now the phone is on the counterLike a weather station, still,And I'm watching for a frontThat is never going to spill,And I turn the silence over,Turn the nothing into blame,Turn the not yet into not you,Turn the not you into shame.
So I open up the house and light the better rooms,And the cellar stays politely closed to you,And you walk it end to end and knock along the walls,And you tell me that you love it — and it's true.
And I'm standing in the hallwayWith my hand out, holding keys —Take the house, oh take the house,Won't somebody take the house from me.
The cellarOpen the cellar
'Cause when it lands — when someone writes back and they mean it —It's two people setting down one heavy case,It's a wall that turns into a door, and through itComes a light that puts the colour in your face.
But when it doesn't — when the no arrives so tender,Folded like a napkin laid across a plate —You have read the postcard. You have never met the weather.
You had an evening.
I had all of me.
And I get it. I have folded napkins too.Nobody owes a spark. That much is true.But God — tell me what I have to beTo be the thing that lands. To be the key.
So I open up the house and light the better rooms,And the cellar stays politely closed to you,And you walk it end to end and knock along the walls,And you tell me that you love it — and it's true.
And I'm standing in the hallwayWith my hand out, holding keys —Take the house, oh take the house,Won't somebody take the house from me.
And tomorrow I'll be early, standing in the glass,Watching all the strangers — and I'll let them pass,
Straightening a stranger who is mostly me.
Song 3 · a3i
One More Mile
Tuesdays, then Tuesdays and Thursdays. Eleven weeks of looking at the same man in the gym mirror without a word. The treadmill never changes tempo — she can't get off the machine until he finally asks her properly for a coffee.
Listen on YouTube MusicIt's a Tuesday, it's the same as every TuesdayThere's a rowing machine, a mirror and the rain outsideI put my headphones in and start the same old programmeAnd then somebody walks in and takes the bike beside
And I'm looking at the mirror and he's looking at the mirrorAnd we're both of us pretending that we don'tOh, the mirror is the only place we've ever really metAnd in eleven weeks we haven't said a word
And my heart is going fasterThan the programme wants it toThere's a warning on the little screenAnd it's not about my shoes
One more mile, one more mile —I'm not tired, no, I feel like I could flyOne more mile, one more mile —While you're standing in the corner of my eye
Oh, my legs are gonna kill me in the morningBut I'm not getting off until you goOne more mile, one more mile
I have moved my whole week over — I do Tuesdays now and ThursdaysAnd I tell myself it suits me better soAnd I know he does the weights first and he's running after nineAnd I hate that I know that — but I know
And there's twenty other people and there's music in my earsAnd a hundred better things that I could doBut I'm forty-something, standing in a room that smells of rubberFeeling seventeen — and it's because of you
And my heart is going fasterThan my body ever willOh, I'm running to a nowhereBut I'm running to you still
One more mile, one more mile —I'm not tired, no, I feel like I could flyOne more mile, one more mile —While you're standing in the corner of my eye
Oh, my legs are gonna kill me in the morningBut I'm not getting off until you goOne more mile, one more mile
Then he said something to me by the water fountainAnd I had my headphones in and I said "what?"And he smiled and shook his head and said "it doesn't matter"And he walked away — and God, it mattered such a lot
And I stood there with a bottle in my hand for half a minuteLike a girl who missed the only train she hadThen I ran the whole thing out and then I drove myself back homeAnd I cried a bit — which is completely mad
Then a Thursday, nothing special — I was putting back the weightsAnd he stood there with a towel around his neckAnd he said "I'm going to ask you properly this time —Would you like to get a coffee when we're done?"
And I said yes before he finished, oh, I didn't even waitAnd he laughed, and I have never felt so youngAnd the treadmill's standing empty and the mirror's just a mirrorAnd I'm walking out the door where I belong
No more miles, no more miles —I'm not running and I'm not pretending I'm shyNo more miles, no more miles —'Cause you're standing here in front of me, not in my eye
Oh, my legs are gonna kill me in the morningAnd I don't care about it anymoreNo more miles, no more miles
No more miles, no more miles(one more mile, one more mile)No more miles, no more miles(oh, I'm not getting off until you go...)
Song 4 · a3i
The Rhythm in My Soul
Locked windows, a grey mirror, counting dust motes through endless nights — and then someone switches the mirror ball on. A pure disco release about the moment the broken pieces start moving to the same beat.
Listen on YouTube MusicThe mirror showed a ghost in faded grey,I locked the windows tight against the light,The hours dragged through every endless night,Just counting dust motes in the hollow day.
Oh, baby, you're the rhythm in my soul!You make the broken pieces feel so whole!The mirrored sphere is spinning, catch the gleam!We're dancing in a neon-colored dream!(A neon-colored dream...)
The static was the shadow on the shelf,I memorized the patterns on the wall,Expected nothing, gave nothing at all,A stranger hiding strictly from myself.
Oh, baby, you're the rhythm in my soul!You make the broken pieces feel so whole!The mirrored sphere is spinning, catch the gleam!We're dancing in a neon-colored dream!(In a neon-colored dream...)
The city pulse was just a hollow beat,I wore my heavy coat against the rain,I tried to numb the quiet weight of pain,While pacing aimless on the frozen street.
Oh, baby, you're the rhythm in my soul!You make the broken pieces feel so whole!The mirrored sphere is spinning, catch the gleam!We're dancing in a neon-colored dream!(Neon-colored dream...)
We're dancing in a neon-colored dream!(Dancing in a neon-colored dream...)The rhythm in my soul...(The rhythm in my soul...)
Song 5 · a3i
Chasing The Blue
Three in the morning, violet sky over glass and concrete. Two people letting go of logic and of time, drifting off the floor while the static knocks at the door — rising like a wildfire until the blue gives way to gold.
Listen on YouTube MusicGlass reflections on the boulevardThe sky is turning into violet shardsI carry every silence like a heavy stoneWaiting for the wires to find a different toneThe static in the air is starting to ignitePushing all the shadows out of sightGravity is pulling, but we're drifting off the floorLeaving all the static knocking at the doorThe atmosphere is changing, can you feel the pull?Everything is hollow, till the cup is full
Oh, we're rising like a wildfire in the velvet gray!Higher than the starlight, chasing all the blue away!Nothing left to hold on to, we're burning in the lightEverything is infinite inside the heart of night!We are the pulse, we are the fire, we're the runaway!Turning every moment into gold, come what may!
Diamonds scattered on a concrete seaYou're looking for a version of a memoryI'm letting go of logic, letting go of timeWatching all the reasons vanish in a rhymeThe city is a secret that we're keeping nowBreaking every promise, breaking every vowGravity is pulling, but we're drifting off the floorLeaving all the static knocking at the doorThe atmosphere is changing, can you feel the pull?Everything is hollow, till the cup is full
Oh, we're rising like a wildfire in the velvet gray!Higher than the starlight, chasing all the blue away!Nothing left to hold on to, we're burning in the lightEverything is infinite inside the heart of night!We are the pulse, we are the fire, we're the runaway!Turning every moment into gold, come what may!
Beyond the neon borders, beyond the reach of dayWe're caught up in the current, floating far awayNo distance, no reason, just the weightless spaceSeeing all the wonder written on your face
Oh, we're rising like a wildfire in the velvet gray!Higher than the starlight, chasing all the blue away!Nothing left to hold on to, we're burning in the lightEverything is infinite inside the heart of night!We are the pulse, we are the fire, we're the runaway!Turning every moment into gold, come what may!
Coming into gold...(Rising, rising)Everything is infinite...(Heart of the night)Come what may...(Gold, gold, gold)
Song 6 · a3i
Dushi
Willemstad, Curaçao. He's tall the way the Dutch are tall, and the whole island knows his corner. She has his keys and takes him home — and still counts every minute while the waitress smiles at him in Papiamentu. Dushi means sweetheart; jealousy never sounded this sunny.
Listen on YouTube MusicEvery woman in Willemstad knows the corner where he stands,Tall the way the Dutch are tall, with half the island in his hands.I'm the one who has his keys, I'm the one who takes him home,So why am I still counting every minute I'm alone?
He says "schat", he says nothing more, and it's usually enough,But the waitress smiles in Papiamentu and I don't speak that kind of love.When the tumba starts at midnight and he's dancing with them all,I'm the lucky one, the jealous one, the one against the wall.
Dushi, dushi,Look at me the way the whole island looks at you.Dushi, dushi,Half of me is dancing and the other half is blue.You could have anybody on the Handelskade —And I hate it, and I love it, and it's true.
He came over for a season with a contract and a plan,Now the whole of Punda greets him like he's half a local man.He was mine that first November when we knew nobody at all,Now they know him at the water, at the bridge, along the wall.
He says "schat" in the morning and he means it, I can tell,But he says it to the neighbours and the ocean and the girl at the hotel.So I love him like a tourist with a ticket in my hand,Counting seasons, counting rivals, drawing lines across the sand.
Dushi, dushi,Look at me the way the whole island looks at you.Dushi, dushi,Half of me is dancing and the other half is blue.You could have anybody on the Handelskade —And I hate it, and I love it, and it's true.
It isn't that I doubt him. It's that I have seen the light,The way it finds his face across a table in the night.Anyone would want that. God — I want that. So do I.I'm just the first one who arrived.
Dushi, dushi,Look at me the way the whole island looks at you.Dushi, dushi,Half of me is dancing and the other half is blue.You could have anybody on the Handelskade,You could leave me on a bridge that floats away —And I hate it, and I love it, and I stay.
Dushi, dushi —Half of me is dancing and the other half is blue.Dushi.
Song 7 · a3i
Sunlight Through The Seam
The calendar was a grey wall and every morning a charcoal sketch. Then one day the light gets in through the seam of the curtain and everything turns Technicolor. The shortest song of the night — and the sunrise of the page.
Listen on YouTube MusicThe calendar was just a gray wall,Dust collected on the hallway floor,Nothing changed at all behind the door,The silence was the only guest I'd call.
Now the colors are a Technicolor dream!You're the sunlight breaking through the seam!Dancing on the surface of the stream!Life is sweeter than it's ever been!
I used to watch the traffic lights turn red,counting minutes till the end of day,wasting all the empty words I said,while the world slowly slipped away.
Now the colors are a Technicolor dream!You're the sunlight breaking through the seam!Dancing on the surface of the stream!Life is sweeter than it's ever been!
Every morning was a charcoal sketch,I had no reason to reach out my hand,Just writing empty names upon the sand,A blurry photograph I couldn't etch.
Now the colors are a Technicolor dream!You're the sunlight breaking through the seam!Dancing on the surface of the stream!Life is sweeter than it's ever been!
Song 8 · a3i
Kalimera
The ferry leaves a blonde girl with a suitcase and an upside-down map at a harbour café. The owner tells her to move; they shout in two languages until the church bells ring eleven and he laughs. Kalimera — good morning — the angriest hello she ever knew, and the reason she never went home.
Listen on YouTube MusicThe ferry left me standing in the white heat of the town,A blonde girl with a suitcase and a map turned upside down.I sat down at his table where the harbour meets the sun,And he told me I should move — well, that's how it begun.
We were shouting in two languages and nobody understood,He was pointing at the ocean, I was giving just as good.Then the church bells hit eleven and the anger turned to air —And he laughed. And I was standing there.
Kalimera, kalimera,The angriest hello I ever knew.Kalimera, kalimera,Say it once again and I will say it back to you.We began it like a storm above the harbour —Now I'm never going home. I'm staying too.
He was thirty-one and stubborn as the stones along the shore,And he came back the next evening just to shout at me some more.Then he gave me his umbrella when the August rain came down,And we walked the whole of summer through that little white town.
Now we're shouting in one language and I finally understand,There's a ring of salt around us and his glass is in my hand.And the church bells hit eleven and I don't go home to bed —I just laugh at all the things he said.
Kalimera, kalimera,The angriest hello I ever knew.Kalimera, kalimera,Say it once again and I will say it back to you.We began it like a storm above the harbour —Now I'm never going home. I'm staying too.
Somewhere there's a girl in a raincoat in September,With a ticket and a life she never had.I left her at the harbour and I never called her back —And I'm not sorry. No. I'm not sad.
Kalimera, kalimera,The angriest hello I ever knew.Kalimera, kalimera,Say it once again and I will say it back to you.We began it like a storm above the harbour,Twenty-eight and burning in the blue —Now I'm never going home. I'm staying too.
Kalimera, kalimera —Say it once again and I'll say it back to you.Kalimera.