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From the album "Born After the Turn" Visit soundcloud.com/dellahouse/tracks/ Lyrics Delicate it sits Untold years in the dark A colony built slow as soil Mapping itself across the tree-bark. It rises out of slow obstinate growth Drifts away at the slightest disturbance, As if being bothered is a signal For the next cycle’s convergence. No one thinks about the paperwork Or the quiet rules of staying alive, No one wonders how something this fragile Makes it centuries just to barely survive. Every cycle has one point of failure One missing form, one unchecked box, Not the cause but the catalyst That shakes the spores loose from their locks. Whole slow-grown futures On the immaculate floor of stress, When the cycle breaks, the spores awake And scatter without an address. You must Disappear into the nearest forest, Disappear into the nearest forest. Mourning comes quiet Like a shrug stamped and filed away, Signed, dated, obliterated The ending’s formal, but the ending was underway. That’s the way it ends, That’s the way it starts over, Recursive migrating fragility Keeps us drifting, never closer. We carry our own scaffold, We carry our own freedom, Drifting spores looking for A place to call home. Every generation thinks the warnings were flawed, Every generation thinks paradise Was lost by a rule they never saw. Whole slow-grown futures On the immaculate floor of stress, When the cycle breaks, the spores awake And scatter without an address. You must Disappear into the nearest forest, Disappear into the nearest forest. Go out Go out Into the nearest forest © 2026 Della House Della House is an original lyrics and poetry project brought to life with funky, folky, rootsy indie guitar-driven music, produced with the assistance of AI music tools. Tight and fragile folk styles and alt-rock song experiments that groove on their own, wrapped around introspective lyrics like a loose sweater on a cold day.