Lyric

People say humans are creatures that learn.
This song quietly disagrees.

"I'm just passing through tonight."
That was the plan.
And yet, there I am again,
standing under the same neon lights.
No one called me.
There was no reason.
I just arrived.

"Corridor, Again" is an R&B record
that documents the almost unconscious return
of a person who acts before regret has time to catch up.

I do reflect.
Which is exactly why
I repeat the same mistake more carefully.

I don't expect anything.
But somehow,
I expect that not expecting anything
will feel different this time.
Once you notice that structure,
the song is already halfway over.

Neon doesn't comfort.
Rain doesn't rescue.
Still, my steps are precise,
leading me back here without hesitation.
Why do we remember places of doubt
so much better than places of certainty?

piroshi doesn't call this behavior weakness.
He doesn't call it love either.
He simply turns into sound
the state where "returning"
is no longer even a choice.

The groove is calm.
That's why reason can't keep up.
The melody is well-formed.
That's why the emotions spill out of it.

"Corridor, Again" is music
for nights when you stop trying to stop yourself.

Habits you quit.
Places you thought were over.
Roads you checked again and again
just to confirm they meant nothing.

And still,
people go back
to make sure nothing happens-
on purpose.

What's eccentric isn't impulse.
It's the quiet sincerity of someone
who understands everything
and repeats the behavior anyway.

If, after the song ends,
you feel like stepping outside just a little,
that isn't coincidence.

"Corridor, Again" is R&B
for people who find themselves returning,
a piece of music that gently invalidates
the decision not to come back.

And yet, the story doesn't end there.

The real ending begins
after leaving the corridor.

"I'll stop here tonight."
That's what I decided.
But my feet, for some reason,
are already heading toward Shinbashi.

There's no reason.
No destination.
Just the feeling that going straight home
might be a little too strict on myself.

Shinbashi isn't a place you go with hope.
Nothing gets resolved there.
No miracles happen.
But the conclusion-
"Today didn't work out"-
is accepted with remarkable kindness.

The composure maintained in the corridor
finally sits down in Shinbashi.
Posture collapses.
Voices get louder.
Suddenly, life stories begin.
They are almost always the same.

"Corridor, Again" isn't satisfied
with just one place of return.
It follows the human tendency
to drift one step further
into a city that feels more honest.

This isn't a fall.
It isn't escape.
It's a strangely optimistic resignation:
"Well, since I'm here anyway..."

The drink in Shinbashi isn't especially good.
It simply ends the day properly-
and carelessly.

It begins in the corridor
and extends in Shinbashi.
Regretted, reflected on,
and then repeated again.

What's eccentric isn't the choice of place.
It's the precaution of preparing failure
in two stages.

"Corridor, Again" is R&B
for nights when one stop wasn't enough,
music that flawlessly betrays
the promise to be careful next time.