The Wolf and Moth Club Pt. 1 - "A Song From Far Away "

Have you ever woken up with a song stuck in your head
right from the very first second you open your eyes?
As if something or someone were singing to you in your sleep.
Whispers run back and forth, climbing up and down your mind.
You can feel them resonate as you begin the day
this most familiar tune crawling down your eardrum.

You walk around with the half remembered ballad still very much alive.
And you stop on your tracks, for you feel silence itself suddenly becoming even more mute.

Then comes a sound.
Distant first, it grows into a magnificent roar
And the thought unlocks.

You try to decipher its provenance.
You don't quite grasp what it is, but you wanna catch it.
You want to embrace the glimpse.
Because deep down you know, somehow, it belongs to you.

And you go:
Hold on just a second, don't tell me this one.
I know this one, I know this song
I know this song.

You start humming the melody
Sounds become words which become verses
You start building the puzzle,
you wanna solve this jigsaw.
You're almost there, the verses align and a jingle pops in, a chorus is formed.

You know it by heart, you've heard it your whole life
You're humming, whistling, chanting
It's in the tip of your tongue
And it's right there waiting for you
What was it called?

But - wait a second...

Are you sure you know it?
Have you really heard this song before?
Can it be just your memory playing tricks on you?

How do we know it's not something different?
Something else?

Could it be just the past, playing with us
Coming out of its hiding place
Trying to tell us something?

This is a song from long ago,
A song from far away
Much, much older than me.
Older even than my grandfather.
He was the one who used to sing it back in the 50's
A simpler age, a quieter time.
He used to dance at its slow beat through dozens of jazz clubs and ballrooms.
This music wore the innocence of the days
where the love of a man and a woman could hold true and believe in the impossible
But my grandpa's epoch of youth turned into sand
and his voice dried up, it became a soft ghost

A candid mist carrying the silver scent of time,
the echo trapped in my inkpot.

Hold on just a second, don't tell me this one.
I know this one, I know this song
I know this song.

Could it be?