From the album The Crux
This is about the specific hell of trying to move on when your brain refuses to cooperate. Djo is not just missing someone. He is stuck in a feedback loop where every sight, every memory, every idle moment pulls him back to the same person, and he knows how pathetic that is but cannot stop it anyway.
Back in the city, no longer my home / Trying to let it go
He is physically back in the place they shared, but it does not feel like his anymore. The trying matters here. It signals effort without success, the kind of hollow attempt you make when you know you are not ready but have to pretend you are.
Then there's a lyric that, in context, stings / The immediate pain it brings / That song that you used to sing
A random song triggers the whole collapse. Not even the full memory, just a lyric she used to sing, and suddenly he is right back in it. The specificity of "in context" makes it worse. It only hurts because of what it used to mean.
Oh God, I wish I could delete ya / 'Cause nothin' can compete with ya / I replenish and repeat ya
Delete is the right word. Not forget, not move past. He wants her erased from his brain like a file. The "replenish and repeat" line nails the loop. He runs out of her, refills on memories, and cycles again.
I'm locked, she's the key / I'm a boat that's sinking, guess who's the sea
Two metaphors back to back, both saying the same thing. She controls whether he gets out. She is also the thing drowning him. That is the trap. The person you need to escape is the only one who could let you go.
I wanna know (Just two weeks, how'd you cut it like that?) / Maybe you show me how (I'm built different, I don't work like that, huh)
She moved on in two weeks. He is still here months later. The "I'm built different" is her voice, real or imagined, and it lands like a taunt. She is not better at letting go. She just does not care as much.
The final line admits what the whole song has been circling. He would undo meeting her entirely if he could, which is the darkest version of missing someone. Not wishing things went differently, but wishing they never happened at all.