Lanterns: Track by Track

​The album opens with the ghostly crackle of a looping radio, before Rhodes piano and guitar slowly unfurl. A single line—“I wish that I was someone to believe in…”—ushers listeners into Waxling’s world of vulnerability and searching. It sets the stage for the emotional weight and cyclical motifs that will carry through the record.

​A mid-tempo ballad about the healing and enduring power of family love. Lyrically rich and confessional—“Upon the love that spilled from me, you built a heart lake”—the song paints vivid images of nurture and forgiveness, while acknowledging the darker side of belonging. With Rhodes piano and layered guitars, it’s both intimate and cinematic.

A taut, guitar-driven rocker with anthemic harmonies. The narrator grapples with secrecy, violence, and identity: “My gun would save my life unless it’s pointed at my eye / You’d better hope it’s not real.” Urgent rhythms and doubled vocals capture the restless paranoia of carrying emotional baggage.

Gentle, almost lullaby-like, built on arpeggiated guitar, vibraphone, and glockenspiel.  “You love me like a womb” repeats like a mantra of protection. It’s a deeply personal portrait of depression and maternal intervention—“You sat me down, and took my rope away / You said I need to stay awhile.”

Trading vocalists and glittering textures mirror the turmoil of self-perception.   “I couldn’t stand the sight of my reflection in the mirror” and “Reflections in the water, they remind me of another world” balance despair with glimpses of transcendence.

A sharp-edged, swing-tinged male/female duet that juxtaposes romance with bitterness. The vocal sparring cuts deep: “When I touch you it’s like a painter stroking their canvas” contrasts with “Just say you’re in the wrong.” Both lovers claim they’re not afraid, but the repeated admission—“But we are / And that makes us the same”—reveals their shared fragility.

An adagio-paced confessional that begins a three-song suite. Vocal harmonies swell over slow instrumentation, confessing shame and pride: “I’ve been careless, let my confidence bury my soul.” Its reflective tone makes way for the urgency of the next track.

The suite bursts into life with guitars and forward motion. Emotional confrontation drives the lyric: “Remember how I dimmed the lights? You caught your breath, but still you couldn’t reach my height.” Anger, longing, and desperation combine in an exhilarating rush.

Closing the medley, this track blends acoustic strum with electric accents. A song of devotion mixed with regret: “Long as I’m still alive a piece of your soul can be mine.” Themes of scars, therapy, and miracles emerge, its wistful tone softening the suite’s climax.

Haunting and exploratory, with vibraphones, and arpeggiating guitars. Lyrics like “Waltz through ashes in silence, a dark silhouette” conjure imagery of fragile devotion, while the climax builds into emotional surrender. 

A devastating portrait of addiction. Winding guitars underpin lines like “She’s using again, you can tell by the smell of that room that you dread to think about.” The repeated cycles of trust and betrayal evoke hopelessness, yet the refrain “Now you’ve broke your wings and lost your flame” gives the song tragic finality.

An elegiac piece drawing parallels between personal struggle and the fate of the Soviet space dog Laika. With imagery both cosmic and intimate—“Tonight another dog will die, my frozen body drifts in space”—the song crescendos into an anguished plea: “Get rid of my body, get rid of all the voices in my head.”

The record closes with an epic that begins in fragility—“Fragile mind, brittle as the time”—over spare piano and violin, before erupting into a full-band anthem. Voices of regret and hope swirl until recurring motifs return: “It’s a cycle, it’s a cycle” and “I wanted to be someone to believe in.” This cyclical callback ties the journey together, leaving listeners suspended between despair and transcendence.