Porchlight Pact
About This Track
"Porchlight Pact" is a piece of sonic mythology, an anthem for a secret society that finds its magic not in a forgotten forest, but in the foggy, sodium-lit streets of suburbia. It tells the story of a chosen family bound by an ancient oath, turning mundane elements—paper crowns, alleycat guides, the glow of a single porchlight—into symbols of immense power and belonging.
This song, unlike all the others, did not use Udio at all. I discovered that the Suno v5 model can now generate found sounds and foley samples, which inspired this track. Starting from Apashe as an inspiration, this song developed into a Halloween dance anthem.
The key here is the key: the pre-chorus specifically requests an octonic scale, which creates the eerie feel. The stem generation feature created the space and clarity that is evident in the 24-bit download.
Lyrics
Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock.
Hush—the porchlight blooms.
Paper crown and plastic fangs,
hood up, face in shadow.
Leaves like little metronomes
skitter down the gravel.
Under sodium-orange moons,
cul-de-sacs turn cathedrals;
bass from somewhere down the block
shakes the porch like needles.
We don't spook—we study dark,
read the street’s small print;
I carry one skeleton key,
you carry the flint.
Flip the switch, cross the chalk,
name your fear, let it talk.
Hold your breath, count to four—
open up the midnight door.
Say it back—Porchlight Pact.
We don’t run, we don’t retract.
Masks on, hearts loud, shadows bend;
march in time and don’t descend.
Porchlight Pact—seal it tight,
beat by beat we marry night.
If it knocks, we knock it back—
say it back: Porchlight Pact.
(hey) Pact—pact—pact—pact.
Four knocks—answer back.
Cider steam and copper wind,
jack-o-lantern grins;
alley cats as mettle guides,
glowing violin.
Doorbells ring in minor thirds,
witch-salt on the rail;
car alarms sing counterlines
to a bone-drum tale.
Pocket full of sugar glass,
glass that never breaks—
hold it on your tongue till dawn,
taste the city’s ache.
Flip the switch, cross the chalk,
name your fear, let it talk.
Hold your breath, count to four—
open up the midnight door.
Circle, circle—hold the line,
spell it softly: “mine, not mine.”
Thirteen steps and no one speaks,
then the porchlight blinks—then peaks.
Say it back—Porchlight Pact.
We don’t fade, we don’t retract.
Masks off, eyes bright, shadows sway;
we outshine the end of day.
Porchlight Pact—ink it bright,
beat by beat we train the night.
If it knocks, we knock it back—
say it back: Porchlight Pact.
Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock.
Hush—the porchlight sleeps.