Jasper Moranday - Still 14 prod. Riffusion

Описание: A song about Laureen Rahn who disappeared from her house at 14 on April 27th, 1980.

Lyrics

Verse I

Merrimack moonlight—amber and ashen

Mattress half-vacant, phantom’s fashioned

Static in the hall where the laughter fractured

Glass hearts clinked, wine-stained adolescent rapture

Fourteen, with a dream stitched into her lashes

Screen door creaks—reality crashes

Echoes of “be right back” in the absence

Now the streetlamps blink like they practiced sadness

Couch cold—no closure

Ghost posters curled on the walls, exposure

Judith finds shadows that whisper in motion

While the dark unscrews the hallway’s notion


Chorus

Bring me back when the world is cured

When the phone calls fade and the pain’s obscure

I’m the voice on the line you can’t assure

A dial tone prayer through the static’s lure

Bring me back when the world is cured

From the motel mirrors to the child’s allure

Every silence rings, every wound endures

Tell ‘em love’s still lost in the corridor’s blur


Verse II

Heard she used to dance by convenience store light

Trading youth for proof she belonged that night

The beer cans clinked—small rebellions ignite

Her sneakers stayed new, unlaced in fright

Drunk friends sleeping, back door creaking

A ghost left breathing, truth still leaking

Dark teeth grin like a preacher's grin

Each bulb out—every sin sinks in

California calls from a motel line

Operator sighs

“The area’s divine”

Divine’s a disguise—anonymity signed

Her name’s graffiti in the cosmic design


Chorus

Bring me back when the world is cured

When the ghosts stop dialing from motel blur

When the wires hum hymns no voice can stir

And the mother stops aging through a whispered slur

Bring me back when the world is cured

When the missing find peace in the dark for sure

Static still breathes through the long detour

I’m a silhouette stitched to the rumor’s lure


Verse III

Now the phone rings at 3:45 a.m.

Time’s teeth grind down to a fragile stem

Judith whispers, “Laurie?”—the hum condemns

Only silence answers, soft as phlegm

Dr. Z’s motel, neon flicker flicks

Angels drown in the pornographic script

Rasmussen’s shadow in the case file crypt

Every headline bleeds like a crucifix

Still, she hums through static—the eternal refrain

“I’m fine, Mom”—a lie in a long decay

Now the wires are veins, and the ghosts remain

In the hum of the line where her voice once stayed