Puddle Maps - somewhere3rdspace: Song Lyrics, Music Videos & Concerts

somewhere3rdspace

Puddle Maps

Alternative

Puddle Maps was released on October 10, 2025 by somewhere3rdspace as a part of the album Cider Steps

Song Details

AlbumCider Steps

Release DateOctober 10, 2025

Labelsomewhere3rdspace

LanguageEnglish

Melodicness

Acousticness

Valence

Danceability

Energy

BPM102

OVERVIEW

LYRICS

Music Video

Music Video

Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS

somewhere3rdspace

somewhere3rdspace

Programming

COMPOSITION & LYRICS

Raven Kim

Composer, Lyrics

PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING

somewhere3rdspace

somewhere3rdspace

Producer

Lyrics

First step after the rain and the street unfolds—

a thin lake wearing the city like a borrowed jacket.

Puddles hold their breath to keep the picture still;

I tiptoe the edges, learning the grammar of shine.

A crosswalk floats like a quiet bridge,

its white stripes softened into milk.

The lamppost pins north to the water,

and my face drifts east with a blink.

Coins sleep in the curb like tiny suns;

someone’s receipt sails by, a translation of the weather.

I test a route with the toe of my shoe,

and the map agrees to be temporary.

A robin edits the drizzle with its chest,

bright punctuation in a paragraph of gray.

Steam climbs from a manhole and teaches my breath

how to sign its name without shaking.

Kalimba notes skip across the glassy places—

small stones thrown by patient hands.

I follow the ripples until they turn into streets,

then choose the one humming in my pocket.

The bakery window fogs and clears, fogs and clears,

like a memory trying on two endings.

Someone draws a heart and erases it halfway;

the outline stays, stubborn and kind.

I kneel to read a constellation of leaves,

veins branching like side roads that forgot to hurry.

A bus sighs, the picture trembles,

and the world reassembles with a better smile.

If north is the warmest doorway, I am almost there.

If west is the cinnamon you can smell before you see it,

turn left at the reflection that looks like a ladder,

climb one rung of sky, step back down with care.

When the wind moves the map, I move with it;

when the street redraws itself, I agree.

No need for a destination more important than this,

no need to finish the sentence the old way.

By the time my shoes learn the route,

the puddles begin returning their borrowed city.

I fold the evening and slide it into a dry pocket,

a soft atlas that only opens when it rains again.

Written by: Raven Kim

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