Second Opinion Lyrics

I thought I lived inside this body. | Turns out I was renting. | Somewhere under the skin, | something rewrote the agreement, | changed the locks, | kept the heartbeat, | kept the face, | then started taking rooms | I still needed. | I said, | “This can’t be right.” | My body gave | a second opinion. | [VERSE] | The hand that always worked | drops the glass. | The leg that knew the stairs | hesitates halfway down. | The lungs decide | a short walk costs more | than I brought with me. | Nothing asks. | Nothing explains. | I give an order. | The body considers it. | Declines. | That’s new. | [CHORUS] | Second opinion, | coming from under my skin. | Second opinion, | and it doesn’t agree with me. | I say move. | It says maybe. | I say breathe. | It takes its time. | Second opinion— | the body I trusted | has started taking sides. | Second opinion. | Mine says live. | The other one | keeps revising. | [VERSE] | I can still remember | when pain meant damage | and rest meant better. | Simple arrangement. | Now pain can arrive | without permission, | leave without explanation, | come back wearing | an entirely different shape. | I press one place. | Another answers. | Try to sleep. | Something twitches awake. | Try to stand. | The floor suddenly requires | more concentration than dignity allows. | I’m getting tired | of negotiating with meat. | [REFRAIN] | I know what I meant to do. | My body knows too. | That doesn’t mean | it fucking listens. | [VERSE] | People ask what hurts. | Wrong size question. | How do you point | at betrayal? | The shoulder? | The spine? | The blood? | The breath? | The part of the brain | that used to make movement | look automatic? | Circle all applicable answers. | Then throw the paper away. | I’m still in here. | That’s what pisses me off. | Same thoughts. | Same temper. | Same bad jokes. | Different machinery. | [CHORUS] | Second opinion, | coming from under my skin. | Second opinion, | and it doesn’t agree with me. | I say move. | It says maybe. | I say breathe. | It takes its time. | Second opinion— | the body I trusted | has started taking sides. | Second opinion. | Mine says live. | The other one | keeps revising. | [BREAKDOWN] | Some mornings | when everything works well enough | to make me doubt yesterday. | Then I reach wrong. | Step wrong. | Turn too fast. | And there it is. | The correction. | Small. | Precise. | Humiliating. | I swear at it. | It remains unmoved. | Fucking tyrant. | [BRIDGE] | I used to think | I was the person | and the body was transport. | Convenient bullshit. | Now every thought | has to pass through tissue | that can refuse delivery. | Want to leave the house? | Depends. | Want to lift that? | Depends. | Want to trust your own balance | without calculating the distance | to something solid? | Depends. | I hate conditions. | [FINAL CHORUS] | Second opinion, | coming from under my skin. | Second opinion, | and it doesn’t agree with me. | I say move. | It says maybe. | I say breathe. | It takes its time. | Second opinion— | the body I trusted | has started taking sides. | Second opinion. | Mine says live. | The other one | keeps revising. | I reach for the glass. | My fingers close late. | It tips. | I catch it against the counter | with the other hand. | Water spills over my wrist. | I hold the glass there | until the shaking settles. | Almost settles. | Good enough. | I lift it anyway.

They told us we'd be home by spring | They said we'd have a reason why | They pinned a flag against my chest | Then taught me how to make men die | The barracks smelled of oil and fear | Some kid was praying in the dark | His mother kissed him yesterday | He couldn't stop staring at her mark | We crossed the border before dawn | No music, no heroic speech | Just boots sinking into mud | And orders nobody could reach | WAR! | They sent us to die | WAR! | Then asked us why | They sit behind a desk somewhere | And count the dead like numbers there | WAR! | We learned the truth too late | The men who start the killing | Never stand beside the graves | I watched a house collapse at noon | I watched a father lose his son | I watched our captain shake his head | Then order us to keep moving on | A medic screamed for more supplies | A radio kept calling out | The same three words came through the smoke | Then silence swallowed every sound | We found a photograph | Half-buried in the street | A little girl with missing teeth | Smiling up at someone we'd never meet | WAR! | They sent us to die | WAR! | Then asked us why | They dress the dead in polished words | Call broken boys the finest birds | WAR! | They make a hero out of pain | Then send another eighteen-year-old | To do it all again | I came home with a suitcase | That was lighter than my head | My father couldn't recognize me | My mother asked about the dead | I told her that I couldn't sleep | She said, “You'll heal with time” | I almost laughed right in her face | When I remembered all those minefields | Now I hear artillery | Every time a door slams shut | I smell the burning diesel | When somebody starts a truck | They gave me a ribbon | They gave me a handshake | They gave me a speech | About the sacrifices we made | But they never gave me back | The faces I still see | They never gave me back | The man I used to be | WAR! | They sent us to die | WAR! | Then asked us why | They turn the blood into a story | Put a medal on the glory | And somewhere there's another kid | Standing underneath fluorescent lights | A uniform hanging from his shoulders | A recruiter saying, “You'll be alright” | He'll sign his future on a dotted line | He'll shake the hand that sends him there | And somebody far above him | Won't even know his fucking name | WAR! | They sent us to die | WAR! | And called it sacrifice | WAR! | The winners write the history | The dead don't get to disagree | WAR! | When the shooting finally ends | Count the bodies | Count the lies | Count the boys who never came back | Then ask the men who ordered it | Why their sons were never there.

[Verse 1] | The alarm went off around nine. | I killed it without opening my eyes. | There's a coffee cup from days ago | Growing something I should recognize. | Rent notice underneath the doorway, | Three missed calls I ought to make, | A little red light on the dashboard | I've ignored for thirty days. | I used to swear I'd change the world. | Now changing shirts feels like a chore. | I keep waiting for motivation | Like it's delivering itself to my door. | Every problem has an answer. | Every answer takes some work. | I can tolerate damn near anything | If fixing it sounds worse. | [Chorus] | I'LL CARE TOMORROW! | Tonight I'm busy doing shit, | Which mostly means I'm lying here | Watching hours disappear a bit. | I'LL CARE TOMORROW! | That's what yesterday said too. | There's a whole damn life outside this room | I keep meaning to get to. | Nothing broke me. | Nothing stopped me. | Nothing nailed me to this chair. | The terrifying fucking truth is— | I just stopped enough to care. | [Verse 2] | My brother called about our mother. | Said I really should come by. | I said work had gotten crazy. | I wasn't working that night. | Told myself I'd visit soon. | Soon turned into spring. | Then one morning there's a voicemail | And I don't want to hear the thing. | There's a woman who once loved me | Sleeping inches from my back. | We don't fight enough to leave now. | We don't love enough to last. | She quit asking me what's wrong | When “nothing” became all I'd say. | Two people can abandon something | Without either walking away. | [Chorus] | I'LL CARE TOMORROW! | Tonight I'm busy doing shit, | Which mostly means I'm lying here | Watching hours disappear a bit. | I'LL CARE TOMORROW! | That's what yesterday said too. | There's a whole damn life outside this room | I keep meaning to get to. | Nothing broke me. | Nothing stopped me. | Nothing nailed me to this chair. | The terrifying fucking truth is— | I just stopped enough to care. | [Verse 3] | The country's burning on the television. | I change channels for a laugh. | Somebody's hungry, somebody's homeless, | Somebody's getting beaten half to death. | I used to get angry watching this shit. | Now anger takes too much fuel. | Give me murder between commercials | And something mindless after news. | That's how apathy gets comfortable. | It doesn't kick the fucking door. | It puts slippers on your conscience | And convinces you you're bored. | No villain speech, no grand surrender, | No dramatic final breath— | Just a thousand little moments | Where you couldn't be bothered yet. | [Bridge] | Maybe someday isn't coming. | You can waste a life in increments | Without wasting one whole night. | Five more minutes. | Next year. | When I'm ready. | When things calm down. | When I have more money. | When I feel more like myself. | When the timing works out. | And the calendar keeps eating pages | While you're waiting on yourself. | [Breakdown] | NOT NOW! | TOO TIRED! | NEXT WEEK! | WHO CARES! | Let it pile up! | Let it rot! | Someone else can fucking care! | Don't fix it! | Don't face it! | Don't answer! | Don't choose! | You never have to risk a failure | If you never fucking move! | [Final Chorus] | I'LL CARE TOMORROW! | Till tomorrow quits arriving, | Till everybody I kept waiting | Gets exhausted trying. | I'LL CARE TOMORROW! | Put it on my fucking stone. | “He had plenty he intended— | He just never got it done.” | No catastrophe defeated me. | No enemy took my years. | I traded them for comfortable | And watched them disappear. | [Outro] | The alarm goes off around nine. | I reach over. | Kill it. | Close my eyes. | There's something I was meant to do today. | It'll come back to me.

[Verse 1] | You walked in late with trouble in your eyes, | Black leather jacket, red under the lights. | You didn't say much, you didn't have to, | One little smile and I already knew. | I tried to keep my distance from you, | Tried to act like I had somewhere to go. | Then you leaned against the bar beside me | And said, “Why are you standing so far?” | I said, “I'm doing my best here.” | You laughed. | “Don't.” | [Pre-Chorus] | One look, one touch, | One inch closer than before. | I know what I'm risking. | That's what makes me want you more. | [Chorus] | You're my bad habit, | My favorite mistake, | The kind of temptation | I don't want to escape. | I know where it leads us, | I know what it costs, | But when your lips get close to mine, | I forget what I've fucking lost. | You're my bad habit. | And I don't want the cure. | [Verse 2] | We talked until the bar was empty, | Two drinks sitting untouched between us. | You told me about the men who wanted you, | I told you I didn't give a fuck. | You smiled and said, “You're lying.” | I said, “Maybe I am.” | Your knee touched mine beneath the table. | Neither one of us moved. | Then you took my hand | And traced a circle on my palm. | “Still trying to behave?” | I looked at you. | “No.” | You smiled. | “Good.” | [Chorus] | You're my bad habit, | My favorite mistake, | The kind of temptation | I don't want to escape. | I know where it leads us, | I know what it costs, | But when your lips get close to mine, | I forget what I've fucking lost. | You're my bad habit. | And I don't want the cure. | [Bridge] | Lust doesn't need forever. | It doesn't need a promise ring. | It doesn't need some pretty story | About what tomorrow's gonna bring. | It wants the heat before the morning, | The pulse beneath the skin, | The moment when restraint gives up | And desire finally wins. | No angels at the doorway. | No judgment in the room. | [Verse 3] | We left through the back door laughing, | Cold air cutting through the night. | You grabbed my jacket at the corner | And pulled me underneath the light. | You kissed me slow, then pulled away, | Just enough to make me chase. | I said, “You're enjoying this.” | You said, | “Every fucking second.” | Then you kissed me again. | The city disappeared around us. | Cars passed. | People stared. | We didn't care. | [Final Chorus] | You're my bad habit, | My favorite mistake, | The kind of temptation | I was born to make. | I know where it leads us, | I know what it costs, | But some desires feel too damn good | To call them something lost. | You're my bad habit. | My weakness dressed in black. | I could walk away tomorrow. | Tonight, | I want you back. | [Outro] | You whispered, | “Still trying to behave?” | I laughed. | “Not a chance.” | You took my hand. | We disappeared into the night. | Just desire | Getting its way.

He expected judgment to have furniture, | a bench, a sentence, somebody above him keeping score. | Expected every rotten thing he’d carried | to be read back slowly before they opened the floor. | Instead there’s nothing waiting. | No witness. | No accusation. | Just a bell somewhere below him | ringing every time he remembers. | Bells with no church, | calling nobody home. | No judge behind the curtain, | no hand upon the stone. | Bells with no church, | and every toll comes through. | He came prepared for punishment. | Nobody had to do it but him. | He knows the oldest wounds by touch, | knows which memory to press when the others stop hurting enough. | The lie he told to save himself. | The call he let ring. | The face he watched collapse while he kept acting tough. | Nothing here invents a torture. | That would be wasteful. | He brought enough. | Bells with no church, | calling nobody home. | No judge behind the curtain, | no hand upon the stone. | Bells with no church, | and every toll comes through. | He came prepared for punishment. | Nobody had to do it but him. | He tries to confess. | There’s nobody listening. | He says the ugly parts out loud | and hears them come back smaller than they lived inside his head. | No thunder. | No verdict. | No voice saying what he deserves. | Just the next bell. | Then another. | He starts arguing with absence. | “I know what I did.” | Nothing. | “I know.” | Nothing. | “I fucking know.” | The bell answers. | Not angry. | Not holy. | Just present. | That’s when he understands the cruelty | and immediately hates the thought for sounding too clean. | So he throws it away. | Keeps walking. | The floor underneath him has no direction, | yet every step returns him to the same unfinished memory. | Not the worst thing he ever did. | The one he never forgave himself for. | Different animal. | Different appetite. | Bells with no church, | ringing through the ribs. | No devil keeping records, | no god demanding this. | Bells with no church, | nothing waiting at the end. | He keeps reopening the wound | because closing it feels like defense. | There are others down there. | He can hear them sometimes. | Not screaming. | Talking. | One voice apologizing to somebody who isn’t there. | One voice insisting it had no choice. | One laughing too hard | after saying something that must have once destroyed a room. | Nobody guards them. | Nobody keeps them in place. | Still, nobody leaves. | He wonders whether there ever was a gate. | That thought scares him enough | to stop looking for one. | The body keeps its own little courtroom anyway— | jaw clenched before memory arrives, | stomach turning before the thought completes, | hands going cold over things nobody living can accuse him of now. | Bells with no church, | no sermon in the sound. | Just metal striking metal | somewhere under solid ground. | Bells with no church, | and he knows every tone. | He thought hell would have a keeper. | Hell left him alone. | That almost makes him angry enough to leave. | Almost. | He finds a stairway climbing upward. | No sign. | No warning. | No lock. | He puts one foot on the first step. | The bell stops. | Silence. | Real silence. | He stands there long enough | to feel how badly he wants the bell back. | Then one memory rises. | Small. | Mean. | Familiar. | He lowers his foot. | The bell rings again. | He keeps his eyes down. | Stays.

[Verse 1] | He walks in clean with a funeral grin, | shakes every hand till the room lets him in. | Gold cuff flash, cufflink shine, | black little eyes measuring spine. | He calls you brother, calls her dear, | pours free poison in every ear. | Laughs too loud, leans too near, | (turns your private bruise into chandelier.) | He knows who’s lonely, who needs rent, | who hates their life, who came here spent. | He reads each silence, buys each drink, | feeds each doubt till the weak parts sink. | One warm palm on a shaking back, | one sharp joke in a velvetless act. | By midnight half the crowd belongs, | singing his lies like borrowed songs. | [Pre-Chorus] | Watch him move through the pretty crowd, | low as smoke and twice as proud. | Every promise wears a chain, | every favor comes with pain. | [Chorus] | Smile with a hook, hand like a blade, | pull them close, mark what they trade. | He eats the room one heart per round, | leaves no scream, leaves no sound. | Drink up, bow down, kiss the floor, | he’s already got one foot through your door. | Smile with a hook, clean little sin, | let him near and he moves in. | [Verse 2] | She wears concern like church perfume, | fills every chair, owns every room. | Knows when to whisper, when to stare, | when to stroke grief, when to bare | that polished wound she keeps for show, | salt on the places others hide low. | She calls it care with a knife in bloom, | then turns your hurt into dinner-room proof. | She gets your secrets over cheap red wine, | folds them neat in a social shrine. | Laughs with your friends, borrows your pain, | plants small doubts in a sugared refrain. | By the third round, you’re hard to defend, | by the fourth round, she is your friend. | By last call, your circle has split, | and she owns the chair where your trust used to sit. | [Pre-Chorus] | Watch her move through the pretty crowd, | low as smoke and twice as proud. | Every promise wears a chain, | every favor comes with pain. | [Chorus] | Smile with a hook, hand like a blade, | pull them close, mark what they trade. | He eats the room one heart per round, | leaves no scream, leaves no sound. | Drink up, bow down, kiss the floor, | he’s already got one foot through your door. | Smile with a hook, clean little sin, | let him near and he moves in. | [Bridge] | They never kick in the front lock loud, | never swing fists in a riot crowd. | They come with favors, rides, and praise, | late-night calls through dirty haze. | They study hunger, debt, desire, | warm their hands on a borrowed fire. | They make you grateful for the cage, | make you thank them while they gauge | which part bends, which part cracks, | which old scar answers back. | Office lights, birthday bars, | after-hours deals in parked-up cars. | Private chats, closed booth seats, | public smiles on dirty streets. | A rumor drops, a lover turns, | one wrong laugh and the whole room burns. | [Final Chorus] | Smile with a hook, hand like a blade, | pull them close, mark what they trade. | He eats the room one heart per round, | leaves no scream, leaves no sound. | Drink up, bow down, kiss the floor, | he’s already got one foot through your door. | Smile with a hook, clean little sin, | let him near and he moves in. | [Outro] | Morning finds the tables bare, | lipstick ghosts on glassware there. | Phone screens blink with unread dread, | half the crowd repeats what he said. | She walks out clean through service light, | he pays the tab and owns the night. | Behind them, friends divide again, | waiting for the next warm grin.

She’s twenty minutes away. | Not gone. | Not unreachable. | Not buried under anything | I can’t cross with a full tank | and one bad decision. | Twenty minutes. | I’ve wasted more than that | looking for my fucking keys. | Half the mattress, | whole body wide awake. | Half the mattress, | every nerve remembers her shape. | She’s twenty minutes from this room, | close enough to ruin sleep. | Half the mattress— | and all of it belongs to me. | I sleep on my side now. | Not because I like it. | Because rolling toward hers | still happens before thought. | Shoulder turns. | Hand reaches. | Nothing. | The body is an idiot. | My arm still moves | like there’s somebody beside me. | My leg avoids the place | her knees used to steal. | I wake already shifted over, | leaving room | for a woman who has her own bed now. | Half the mattress, | whole body wide awake. | Half the mattress, | every nerve remembers her shape. | She’s twenty minutes from this room, | close enough to ruin sleep. | Half the mattress— | and all of it belongs to me. | People say distance helps. | Twenty minutes | isn’t fucking distance. | It’s temptation with directions. | I know the turns. | Know the driveway. | Know how long | I’d have to hate myself | before knocking. | So I don’t go. | Mostly. | I’ve driven halfway twice. | There’s a gas station | where cowardice and common sense | evidently share a parking lot. | I pull in. | Sit. | Turn around. | Very mature. | Still hurts. | My body doesn’t care | what the better decision was. | It clenches anyway. | Stomach. | Jaw. | Hands on the wheel. | Everything inside me | votes against the man driving home. | Half the mattress, | whole body wide awake. | Half the mattress, | every nerve repeats the mistake. | She’s twenty minutes from my hand, | twenty minutes from my mouth. | Half the mattress— | and I still sleep facing out. | She left her pillow. | I offered it back. | She said keep it. | Terrible idea. | It doesn’t smell like her anymore, | which should make this easier. | Instead it became mine | and I never agreed to it. | Now there are two pillows | and one head. | That ratio pisses me off. | I throw hers on the floor. | Pick it up later. | Don’t read too much into that. | I already did. | Twenty minutes. | I can say it | without checking the route. | Twenty minutes | to the woman I shouldn’t call. | Twenty minutes | to reopen something | we were barely strong enough to close. | Half the mattress, | whole body wide awake. | Half the mattress, | every nerve remembers her shape. | She’s twenty minutes from this room, | close enough to make me weak. | Half the mattress— | and all this empty next to me. | The fucked-up part? | I wanted the space. | Wanted one night | without negotiating blankets, | without her elbow under my ribs, | without waking because she moved, | without hearing, | “You’re on my side again.” | Now I can use every inch. | Luxury. | I hate it. | I stretch one arm across the center | just because I can. | Feels wrong. | Pull it back. | Feels worse. | There’s no winning this. | Good. | She texts once: | “You still have my charger?” | I stare at it. | Of all the things. | Not: | I miss you. | Not: | Come over. | A fucking charger. | I find it beside the bed. | Her side. | Of course. | I type: | Yeah. | Delete. | Type: | I can bring it. | Delete. | Type: | Come get it. | Too angry. | Delete. | Finally: | Found it. | She replies: | Thanks. | That’s the whole conversation. | My chest acts like somebody | dropped furniture on it. | Stupid body. | Half the mattress, | whole body wide awake. | Half the mattress, | twenty minutes and one mistake. | She can come and get the charger. | She can leave without a fight. | Half the mattress— | I put it on the counter. | Move it back beside the bed. | Counter again. | Bed again. | Twenty minutes away. | Her charger in my hand. | Her half of the mattress empty. | I set the charger down. | Pick it back up.

[Verse 1] | The ferns are six feet high here, the air is wet and thick, | Black flies swarm the riverbank where something took a drink. | Three-toed prints fill with rainwater, each one wide as my chest, | A broken trunk lies sideways where the bastard headed west. | The canopy starts shaking though the wind has completely died, | Bird-sized things explode from branches, screaming toward the sky. | Then every insect shuts up. | Every little sound is gone. | Something big is in the trees. | And it's moving this way. | [Pre-Chorus] | Don't run yet. | It hasn't seen us. | Don't breathe hard. | Don't turn around. | That isn't thunder in the distance. | Thunder doesn't shake the ground. | [Chorus] | Something big is in the trees, | (Breaking timber when it moves.) | Every footstep hits the earth | Like the earth has something left to prove. | Teeth built longer than your fingers, | Jaws designed to close and tear. | You can tell yourself you're highest on the food chain— | Try explaining that in there. | Something big is in the trees. | And the trees are moving closer. | [Verse 2] | Down beside the floodplain, armored bodies cross the mud, | Heavy tails drag trenches through the reeds and shallow flood. | One raises up a plated back, another swings its head, | Two horns aimed forward like the whole damn skull was built to wreck. | A herd begins to panic when a distant bellow rolls, | Twenty tons of muscle suddenly decides which way we go. | Saplings flatten underneath them. | Mud erupts beneath their feet. | Anything too slow to move | Becomes another part of the street. | [Chorus] | Something big is in the trees, | (Breaking timber when it moves.) | Every footstep hits the earth | Like the earth has something left to prove. | Teeth built longer than your fingers, | Jaws designed to close and tear. | You can tell yourself you're highest on the food chain— | Try explaining that in there. | Something big is in the trees. | And the trees are moving closer. | [Verse 3] | Then the predator comes through them, head above the broken brush, | Scales wet with rain and something else's blood around its jaws. | Two useless-looking arms don't matter when the rest is built like death, | A skull made out of muscle with a mouth that doesn't end. | It catches one horned giant halfway turning toward the bank, | Teeth punch deep behind the frill while both of them go down. | The river turns to violence. | Tail meets ribs. | Bone gives way. | One gets back up roaring. | The other doesn't stay down. | [Bridge] | No cages. | No museum glass. | No little plaque explaining facts. | No gift shop. | No fossil cast. | Just living meat moving fucking fast. | The sky fills up with leather wings. | The swamp boils beside our knees. | Something long-necked rises through the mist | Higher than the goddamn trees. | Then from somewhere behind us— | Click. | Click. | Click. | Not one. | A pack. | [Breakdown] | Don't run. | They chase. | Don't freeze. | They wait. | Don't climb. | Look up. | Bad idea. | MOVE! | Branches snap. | Mud flies. | Something screams. | Not ours. | Keep fucking moving. | [Final Chorus] | Something big is in the trees. | Something smaller's right behind. | One can crush you with a footstep, | One can open you alive. | Claws built curved for holding, | Teeth built only for the tear. | You can call yourself the master species— | Nothing here is listening. | Something big is in the trees. | Something fast is in the grass. | [Outro] | The footsteps stop. | The clicking doesn't. | Tall grass parts ten feet away. | A narrow head rises slowly. | Then another. | Then six more. | The big thing roars behind us. | The pack moves in.

[Result] | Positive | One word on a page | No crash | No siren | No great collapse | Just letters arranged | And another part of me | Marked for removal | [Verse 1] | The doctor kept his voice controlled | The room remained the same | Skin cancer entered conversation | Like a bill beside my plate | I watched his mouth keep moving | Treatment, margins, what comes next | While one word sat across from me | And swallowed all the rest | Positive used to mean an answer | A reason to unclench | Now it means another stranger | Has moved underneath my flesh | CLL was there already | COPD had claimed my breath | Two strokes had signed their damage | Now my skin had joined the list | [Result] | Positive | Such a cheerful little bastard | Wearing clean white clothes | While it points toward the knife | [Verse 2] | I left carrying instructions | Like instructions could contain | What happens when mortality | Becomes paperwork again | I had songs still half-created | Albums waiting to be born | Pictures crowding every corner | More ideas than years assured | I did not fear some grand hereafter | I feared unfinished files | An unwritten final chorus | A missing final mile | I feared one of them in my chair | The other listening down the hall | Two animals who only know | I always come when called | [Refrain] | I'm not finished | That's the wound | Not the dying | Not the room | Not the doctor saying positive | Then offering what they can do | I'm not finished | I have more | More to make | More to lose | Every sickness takes a number | None of them have asked me to choose | [Verse 3] | People praise a fighting spirit | Like the sick exist to teach | Like fear becomes inspirational | When edited for speech | I am not your brave example | I am angry, tired, alive | Some hours I make dirty jokes | Some hours I cannot hide | My blood betrayed its purpose | My lungs narrowed like a cell | My brain cut power twice | My hands still carry what it cost | Now sunlight left a message | About another thing I'd lost | No single wound can own me | They gather, take their turn | One steals motion, one steals breathing | One makes healthy tissue burn | I keep working through the census | Of the damage living here | Yet every fresh diagnosis | Finds a new location for fear | [Medical Chorus] | Positive is an ugly word | When spoken from that chair | It follows you through every door | Then waits beside your bed | It stains the future backward | It edits every plan | Positive is an ugly word | For something you never had | Positive is an ugly word | When too much is already wrong | When your body keeps collecting | Every threat that comes along | I'm not asking life for mercy | I know life misplaced that skill | I'm demanding time to finish | What is fighting in me still | [Verse 4] | I thought of everyone I buried | How their futures simply stopped | How the world retained its motion | After everything was lost | I thought of her three months of dying | How cancer outran every plea | Then hated that my own diagnosis | Pulled her death inside of me | I know this is not her ending | I know each illness writes its own | Yet once you watch the person you love | Become a body going home | Every doctor carries echoes | Every test revives the room | Every pause before an answer | Lets the oldest terror through | [Break] | Positive | They say the word | I see her bed | Positive | They mark my skin | I see the dead | Positive | I sign the page | I make a joke | Positive | Then drive away | With fear caught in my throat | [Final Refrain] | I'm not finished | That's the wound | I have whole worlds left to use | I have fifty thousand voices | Still demanding to be loosed | I have two cats ruling bedtime | I have work spread everywhere | I have people who would miss me | I have reasons not to care | I'm not finished | Still the word | Has followed me inside | No chorus makes it smaller | No brave sentence makes it kind | The doctor said positive | The clock did not respond | I opened up my waiting work | And kept writing with damaged hands

They put the body into columns | because columns don’t swear when something starts to fail. | Pain gets a little square beside it, | sleep gets another, blood gets printed pale. | Everything unruly gets translated | until the person fits the page. | He doesn’t. | He has become inconvenient. | Good. | Put him, | draw the border, make it neat. | Count the damage, mark the limits, | write the body underneath. | Put him, | tell him where the edges stop. | He’ll kick the fucking corners out | before he learns to fit the box. | The body has stopped asking permission. | One hand drops what it was holding. | One eye drags the room sideways. | His lungs bargain down every breath | while his own blood acts like it has somewhere else to be. | There’s no committee inside him. | No orderly transfer of power. | Just cells making private decisions | with his life caught in the middle. | He’s sick of being manageable. | Sick of every failure becoming a category | clean enough for somebody else to pronounce without flinching. | Sick of hearing the body described | like he isn’t still trapped inside the bastard. | Put him, | draw the border, make it neat. | Count the damage, mark the limits, | write the body underneath. | Put him, | tell him where the edges stop. | He’ll kick the fucking corners out | before he learns to fit the box. | There are things he can’t control now. | That does not make him obedient. | His fingers miss the button. | He hits it again. | His leg drags. | He drags it farther. | His mouth mangles a word | and he spits the ruined version out twice as loud. | Not inspiring. | Not brave. | Furious. | Somebody says he needs to pace himself. | He nearly laughs. | Pace what? | The cells don’t pace themselves. | The vessel that closes doesn’t ask whether he had plans. | The tumor doesn’t check whether the rent got paid. | The body commits treason without paperwork | then everybody expects the person inside it | to become patient. | Fuck patient. | He was patient while the first thing broke. | Patient while the second opinion found another way to say it. | Patient while the mirror handed him back | a face that needed more effort to command. | Patient is just another numbered box. | He tears that one too. | Put him, | write the limits in his file. | Tell him what he shouldn’t carry, | how far he shouldn’t push, how long he should lie still. | Put him, | stack the warnings to the top. | He has already lost enough | without surrendering to the box. | The body keeps mutinying. | Fine. | He can mutiny back. | Not win. | Win is a stupid word here. | Some parts of him are dying badly. | Some parts are working twice as hard. | Some parts don’t know the war exists. | He hates them all for different reasons. | Then hates himself for that. | Then gets tired of hating | and hates the tiredness instead. | How much rage can live beside fear. | How much fear can dress itself as rage. | How many times a man can hear “adjust” | before adjustment starts sounding like burial with better manners. | Put him, | let the border hold him down. | Measure what he cannot recover, | circle what has broken now. | Put him, | watch him shove against the sides. | The body may be closing doors. | He is still kicking from inside. | His hand misses the button again. | He hits it harder. | Misses. | Hits. | Misses. | Hits. | The little numbered square beside his condition | stays perfectly inside the line. | His fist does not.

Door kicked shut with your mouth on mine, | Boots still standing by the bed, | Your fingers hooked beneath my belt | Like patience finally turned up dead. | No soft music, no sweet excuse, | No moonlight begging us to behave, | Just that look you get when hunger | Finds what it fucking craves. | Your back hits the mattress hard, | Hair spread wild across the sheet, | One hand locked around my wrist, | One leg dragging me between. | You laugh when I bite too low, | Then stop laughing when I stay, | Breath turns sharp against my ear, | Body saying what your mouth won’t say. | White heat, teeth deep, | Sweat running down where the night won’t sleep. | Hands locked, breath broke, | Fire in the blood and a fist at the throat. | Push back, pull in, | No clean way out once the shaking begins. | Hard light, slick skin, | Leave the whole room ruined by what we did. | Your nails write red across my shoulders, | My grip bruised tight around your hips, | Your voice cracks open in the dark | With every curse against my lips. | Bedframe hammers at the wall, | Ceiling dust falls near your hair, | Someone upstairs stomps twice in warning, | Neither one of us cares. | You tell me not to slow down, | Then curse me when I don’t, | Thighs locked hard around my waist, | Trying to break what they can hold. | The room gets hot enough to choke, | Glass fogged black beside the blinds, | Every nerve pulled to a wire, | Every wire stripped alive. | White heat, teeth deep, | Sweat running down where the night won’t sleep. | Hands locked, breath broke, | Fire in the blood and a fist at the throat. | Push back, pull in, | No clean way out once the shaking begins. | Hard light, slick skin, | Leave the whole room ruined by what we did. | Then your body changes first. | Not a word. | Not a warning. | Just that sudden arch, | That hard little gasp, | That desperate grip like falling | And refusing to fall alone. | Your mouth opens against my neck, | Sound torn raw from somewhere low, | Every muscle pulling tight | Till the room forgets its own shape. | You shake beneath me, | Then against me, | Then through me, | Dragging mine up from the spine | Like a fuse lit under bone. | I bury my face against your throat, | Drive deep and lose the last clean thought, | Everything locks, everything burns, | Everything floods where the friction caught. | A harsh breath, a broken curse, | Your nails cutting down my back, | Then release hits mean and full, | Hot enough to leave its track. | White heat, teeth deep, | Sweat running down where the night won’t sleep. | Hands locked, breath broke, | Fire in the blood and a fist at the throat. | Push back, pull in, | No clean way out once the shaking begins. | Hard light, slick skin, | Leave the whole room ruined by what we did. | For half a minute nobody moves. | Your chest climbs under mine, | Slow, then rough, then slow again. | My hand stays tangled in your hair. | Your leg slides loose from my waist. | The sheet sticks cold beneath us. | Somewhere outside, a truck rolls past. | The room smells like skin, salt, cheap beer, | You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, | Look down at the mess across your thigh, | Then up at me with that wrecked little grin | Like the devil just got baptized. | Just your fingers finding my chest | And pushing me where you want me to go. | White heat, teeth deep, | Sweat running down where the night won’t sleep. | Hands locked, breath broke, | Fire in the blood and a fist at the throat. | Push back, pull in, | No clean way out once the shaking begins. | Hard light, slick skin, | Leave the whole room ruined by what we did. | The lamp is dead beside the dresser, | Water glass spilled near the wall, | One heel caught beneath the blanket, | My shirt ripped halfway through the fall. | You roll over, bite my shoulder, | Low laugh dark against my skin, | And the mattress starts complaining | Before the blood has cooled again. | Just your hips finding the rhythm, | Just my hands where they’ve already been. | Outside, the streetlight flickers once. | Inside, you say, “Again.” | Not soft. | Not sweet. | The headboard answers for us.

[Verse 1] | The warning light came on last summer, | I put tape across the dash, | Figured engines make weird noises | And the bastard still ran fast. | Roof's been leaking since it turned cold, | There's a bucket by the bed, | Every storm adds new dimensions | To the stain above my head. | Mom left three messages that week. | I kept meaning to call back. | Then a week turned into a season | Like the year fell through a crack. | Nothing happened that prevented me. | No emergency appeared. | I just treated everything I loved | Like it'd always fucking be here. | [Pre-Chorus] | Disaster doesn't need ambition. | Ruin doesn't need attack. | Leave enough things unattended | And they'll destroy themselves for free. | [Chorus] | SOMEBODY ELSE WILL HANDLE IT! | Somebody always fucking will, | Let the garbage reach the ceiling, | Let the weeds swallow the hill. | SOMEBODY ELSE WILL HANDLE IT! | That's my contribution here, | I'll complain about the consequences | When somebody interferes. | I didn't burn my future down. | That would've taken energy. | I watched the motherfucker rot | From the comfort of my seat. | [Verse 2] | The company started cutting corners, | Everybody saw the signs, | Safety checks became suggestions, | Maintenance fell months behind. | “Not my department,” said the foreman. | “Not my problem,” said the crew. | Management had quarterly targets. | Everybody else had shit to do. | Then one bolt became a failure, | One small failure became ten, | Something screamed inside the machinery | And never fucking moved again. | News crews asked how this could happen. | Every person looked confused. | A hundred people saw it coming. | Not one wanted something new to do. | [Chorus] | SOMEBODY ELSE WILL HANDLE IT! | Somebody always fucking will, | Let the garbage reach the ceiling, | Let the weeds swallow the hill. | SOMEBODY ELSE WILL HANDLE IT! | That's my contribution here, | I'll complain about the consequences | When somebody interferes. | I didn't burn my future down. | That would've taken energy. | I watched the motherfucker rot | From the comfort of my seat. | [Verse 3] | One man shrugs, the next one learns. | Someone watches someone drowning, | Figures someone else has turned. | Everybody hates corruption. | Nobody reads what they approve. | Everybody wants things different. | Nobody wants to fucking move. | We can watch a neighborhood collapse | Then bitch about property rates, | Watch a lonely friend disappear | Then wonder why they stayed away. | We want somebody fixing everything | Without disturbing what we do. | We want change delivered to the doorstep | With free shipping included too. | [Bridge] | Apathy says nothing matters, | Then collects evidence it's right. | Stop calling people, lose your friendships. | Stop creating, lose the drive. | Stop maintaining what you've built. | Watch the structure come apart. | Then point toward the wreckage, saying, | “See? I knew it from the start.” | It manufactures its own proof. | Makes you quit before you're beaten, | Then says quitting told the truth. | [Breakdown] | NOT MY JOB! | NOT MY MESS! | NOT MY PROBLEM! | LET IT REST! | Call tomorrow! | Fix it later! | Someone else can save the day! | Ignore the smoke! | Ignore the cracks! | Ignore the people walking away! | Sit down! | Zone out! | Watch another year disappear! | Nothing's fucking happening— | THAT'S THE FUCKING PROBLEM HERE! | [Final Chorus] | SOMEBODY ELSE WILL HANDLE IT! | Then one morning nobody came, | Every person I'd depended on | Had learned to do the fucking same. | SOMEBODY ELSE WILL HANDLE IT! | But there's nobody else around, | Just a house full of neglected things | Finally falling down. | I didn't lose through bad decisions. | I barely made decisions, period. | [Outro] | The phone rings from the kitchen. | Probably something I should know. | I stare at it. | It stops. | A message appears. | I'll check it later.

[Verse 1] | He built his reputation slowly, | Every handshake, every deal, | Learned how to walk into rooms | And make a crowded table yield. | His office had his photograph | Above the conference wall, | A younger version of himself | Still staring down at all. | His wife would say, “You're never home.” | He'd answer, “This is what it takes.” | His son stopped asking him to come | When trophies gathered dust for years. | He called it sacrifice and smiled, | Like sacrifice was always his. | Never saw the family disappearing | While he built the life he wished. | [Pre-Chorus] | Pride doesn't say, “I'm better.” | It says, “I know what's best.” | Then every person you love | Becomes another fucking test. | [Chorus] | THE MAN IN THE FRAME! | He can't step down from the picture, | Can't admit the world keeps moving | When he's not the one who leads it. | THE MAN IN THE FRAME! | Every failure gets a reason, | Every victory gets his signature, | Every wound becomes somebody else's treason. | He'd rather lose the people | Than surrender being right. | He'd rather stand alone forever | Than bend once in his life. | [Verse 2] | His daughter came home crying, | Said her marriage had collapsed. | He listened for three minutes, | Then told her where she'd fucked up. | She needed someone sitting beside her | Who could simply hold her hand. | He couldn't do the quiet part. | Couldn't leave advice unsaid. | Couldn't let somebody else's pain | Exist without his fingerprints. | He thought his wisdom was his legacy. | She learned it was a wall. | When he finally offered comfort, | She didn't call at all. | [Chorus] | THE MAN IN THE FRAME! | He can't step down from the picture, | Can't admit the world keeps moving | When he's not the one who leads it. | THE MAN IN THE FRAME! | Every failure gets a reason, | Every victory gets his signature, | Every wound becomes somebody else's treason. | He'd rather lose the people | Than surrender being right. | He'd rather stand alone forever | Than bend once in his life. | [Verse 3] | Then came the perfect family. | Every photograph was staged. | Nobody outside the house could know | The marriage lived on rage. | Matching clothes at the parties, | Smiles frozen for the shot, | While his wife learned how to hide the truth | And his children learned to nod. | He didn't want a happy family. | He wanted evidence of one. | Every crack had to stay hidden. | Every argument stayed done. | He'd rather destroy the marriage | Than let somebody see it fail. | [Bridge] | Then one night the youngest asked him, | “Dad, why can't you ever say | You don't know?” | His jaw works. | He opened up his mouth | And almost gave the honest answer. | “I don't.” | Three little letters. | A lifetime of defenses | Collapsed beneath them. | But he couldn't say it. | He said, “Because I do.” | And watched his son's face change. | [Breakdown] | I'M RIGHT! | I'M RIGHT! | I'M RIGHT! | Even when the house is burning! | I'M RIGHT! | I'M RIGHT! | I'M RIGHT! | Even when my children leave! | KEEP THE PICTURE! | KEEP THE LIE! | KEEP THE PERFECT FUCKING SMILE! | If the world still thinks I'm winning, | I CAN LOSE EVERYTHING IN STYLE! | [Final Chorus] | THE MAN IN THE FRAME! | Still staring from the photograph, | Suit pressed, shoulders straight, | Like nothing ever happened. | THE MAN IN THE FRAME! | Everybody else moved on, | His wife found another life, | His children stopped calling home. | He won every fucking argument. | Nobody challenged him again. | He got every bit of what he wanted— | The last word. | And silence. | [Outro] | Years later, they sold the house. | The realtor found the photograph. | She took it down from the wall | And left it on the floor. | The glass was cracked across his face. | Nobody bothered replacing it.

[Verse 1] | She walked through the doorway and conversation died, | Half the room forgot their drinks, the other half just tried. | Black leather jacket open, white shirt fighting for its life, | Every button under pressure like a rivet holding tight. | The bartender missed the glass and poured tequila on his hand, | Some poor bastard hit a table when he tried too hard to stand. | She caught the whole damn circus and just laughed beneath her breath, | Two devastating distractions | Putting common sense to death. | [Pre-Chorus] | “Eyes up here,” she told him. | He managed half a glance. | Then gravity reminded him | He never had a chance. | [Chorus] | Good God almighty, somebody call the law, | Physics has committed something nobody should've saw. | Every step's a felony, every bounce destroys a thought, | A beautiful catastrophe that can't be fucking stopped. | You can preach about restraint, | You can practice looking proud, | Then she bends to grab her lighter | And religion leaves the crowd. | [Verse 2] | She leaned across the jukebox reaching for another song, | Three marriages hit trouble before anything came on. | A pool cue struck the ceiling, somebody missed an easy shot, | And the guy beside the bathroom walked directly into a mop. | Her neckline had a zip code every eye had memorized, | A geographical wonder with a valley in between the sides. | She knew what was happening, knew what she had, | And wore that wicked little smile | That made behaving twice as bad. | Somebody whispered, “Jesus.” | Somebody said, “Holy shit.” | Somebody's girlfriend slapped him | For agreeing quite so quick. | [Chorus] | Good God almighty, somebody call the law, | Physics has committed something nobody should've saw. | Every step's a felony, every bounce destroys a thought, | A beautiful catastrophe that can't be fucking stopped. | You can preach about restraint, | You can practice looking proud, | Then she bends to grab her lighter | And religion leaves the crowd. | [Verse 3] | She climbed onto a barstool and crossed one leather boot, | Ordered bourbon, double, neat, while everybody else went mute. | That shirt had lost negotiations somewhere around nine, | One button hanging desperately behind enemy lines. | The bartender asked, “Anything else?” while staring at the shelf, | With the concentration of a man desperately saving himself. | She leaned forward, said, “That's plenty,” and he dropped another glass, | While some bastard near the doorway | Walked into the doorframe twice. | [Bridge] | Ones that enter half a second | Before the rest walks through the crowd. | Sweater weather miracles. | Summer's finest view. | The reason sunglasses were invented | Wasn't sunlight—we all knew. | Call it shallow. | Call it crude. | Call the human race absurd. | Then watch a perfect neckline | Make a genius lose his words. | [Breakdown] | Left. | Right. | Walk. | Bounce. | Half the room | Has checked out now. | Eyes up! | Too late. | Try again. | Jesus Christ— | There they went. | She catches someone staring. | He turns red. | She smirks. | He looks away. | Then looks again. | [Final Chorus] | Good God almighty, somebody call the law, | Physics keeps committing crimes and nobody wants them solved. | Every step's a felony, every sway destroys a thought, | A beautiful catastrophe that can't be fucking stopped. | Keep pretending you're above it, | Keep your eyes fixed straight ahead— | Then she stretches both arms upward | And your argument is dead. | [Outro] | She finishes the bourbon. | Zips her jacket halfway closed. | Half the bar looks disappointed. | The other half still hopes. | She walks toward the doorway. | Every head turns in a row. | She stops. | Looks back. | “Eyes up here.” | Nobody fucking does.

[Verse 1] | They call the names from the front like the front still runs the room. | He is already in the last row with his coat still on and his mouth shut. | He never knocks. | The door is a courtesy for people who wait to be let in. | He counts the rows instead. | One. Two. The ugly third with the broken seat. | Four if you count the aisle as a place a body could hide. | When they get to his name he lets it hang a second too long | so the room has to hear the hole before he fills it. | Then he says here | like the word belongs to somebody else wearing his clothes. | [Pre-Chorus] | Check the back. | Check it again. | The list is not the truth. | The last row is. | [Chorus] | He never knocks | he’s in the building | He never knocks | he takes the cheap seat | Call the roll | call it till your throat goes raw | He’s in the back row | counting rows | counting who still answers | counting who just sits there | and lets the name go by | He never knocks | don’t look at the door | look behind you | [Verse 2] | The body started showing up without him. | Hands on the chair-back. | Jaw set like it practiced in a hallway mirror he doesn’t remember using. | They point at the man in his jacket and they get an answer | and the answer is close enough that nobody walks the aisle to check. | He sits inside that answer and counts. | Row of necks. | Row of collars. | Row of people who got here by asking. | He did not ask. | He arrived the way a cramp arrives. | No warning. | No knuckle on wood. | Just the occupancy. | [Pre-Chorus] | Check the back. | Check it again. | If you only watch the door | you already missed him. | [Chorus] | He never knocks | he’s in the building | He never knocks | he takes the cheap seat | Call the roll | call it till your throat goes raw | He’s in the back row | counting rows | counting who still answers | counting who just sits there | and lets the name go by | He never knocks | don’t look at the door | look behind you | [Bridge] | Second body in the same skin | and it learned the roll better than he did. | When they say his name now | the mouth that moves is not the one that wanted the chair. | He watches it happen from a half-step inside himself | like a man watching a coat get stolen | while he’s still wearing it. | He could stand up. | He doesn’t. | He came here to keep the count. | [Verse 3] | Folding chairs. Same scuff on the same metal leg. | He knows which row complains when you lean. | He knows which one stays honest. | They finish the list and start it over | because somebody in charge thinks repetition makes a person real. | It doesn’t. | He never knocks. | He marks himself present | and keeps counting | past the last name | into the rows that don’t have names yet. | [Chorus] | He never knocks | he’s in the building | He never knocks | he takes the cheap seat | Call the roll | call it till your throat goes raw | He’s in the back row | counting rows | counting who still answers | counting who just sits there | and lets the name go by | He never knocks | don’t look at the door | look behind you | [Outro] | Here. | Here. | Here. | The word keeps leaving a mouth. | The back row keeps a body. | He ticks the next row with his eyes | and does not get up | and does not knock | and does not stop the count.

[Verse 1] | You keep old injuries boxed by the bed, | Pull them out nightly and polish them red, | Every insult preserved with museum care, | Every failed apology left hanging there. | Years keep moving, you drag them behind, | A chain of remembered offenses through time, | One careless sentence from nineteen years back | Still gets reconstructed each time you attack. | You know every weakness in everyone near, | Which wound to reopen, which failure to spear, | You wait through dinner with venom held still, | Then slide one remark where you know that it will | (Turn somebody pale, make somebody retreat,) | Give you five minutes of feeling complete. | [Pre-Chorus] | Keep the ledger open. | Never forgive. | If the wound ever closes, what reason's left to live? | Sharpen the memory. | Rewrite the scene. | Make every old injury fresh and obscene. | [Chorus] | Keep the grudge fed, | Give it room in your head, | Pour another year on everything they said. | Let it eat the good days, let it poison the bed, | Keep the grudge fed. | Make an enemy out of anyone close, | (Turn every kindness into something you oppose.) | If peace ever enters, drag the past instead. | Keep it breathing. | Keep the grudge fed. | [Verse 2] | A brother stops calling after one final fight, | You tell everybody you proved you were right. | His chair stays empty through birthdays and meals, | Still victory tastes like the thing that it steals. | Your daughter comes home with somebody you hate, | Not for what he has done, just the family he dates. | One ancient dispute from two fathers before | Gets handed to children like blood through a war. | Nobody recalls where the fracture began, | Only who crossed which invisible line in the sand. | One wedding divides into tables and sides, | One funeral fills with refrigerated eyes. | People who loved once now measure each word, | Waiting for offense in whatever gets heard. | A lifetime gets narrowed to who wronged who first, | [Chorus] | Keep the grudge fed, | Give it room in your head, | Pour another year on everything they said. | Let it eat the good days, let it poison the bed, | Keep the grudge fed. | Make an enemy out of anyone close, | (Turn every kindness into something you oppose.) | If peace ever enters, drag the past instead. | Keep it breathing. | Keep the grudge fed. | [Bridge] | It loves repetition. | It hates empty rooms. | It needs fresh evidence whenever silence blooms. | It rewrites motives. | It edits the past. | Makes every small cruelty permanently last. | You stop seeing people. | You see what they did. | One failure becomes every decent thing hid. | A face becomes shorthand for anger accrued, | Then one day nobody argues at all. | No one calls back. | No one comes down the hall. | You wanted them guilty. | You wanted them gone. | Now every conviction has nobody left to lean on. | Still the old stories keep running their track, | Without opposition, they answer you back. | You sit in the quiet and prosecute ghosts, | Winning each case against people long gone. | [Verse 3] | The house keeps trophies from battles half-dead, | Letters unsent and accusations reread, | Photographs turned face-down inside a drawer, | Phone numbers deleted but remembered for war. | You hear through a cousin somebody got sick, | For half of one second compassion might hit. | Then memory reaches for something they said, | And sympathy gets dragged behind judgment instead. | Years have gone gray around every dispute, | Facts lost detail, bitterness kept root. | You can't quite recall the original phrase, | Only the anger that followed for days. | That becomes proof that the offense was severe. | The feeling survives when the facts disappear. | [Final Chorus] | Keep the grudge fed, | Give it room in your head, | Pour another year on everything they said. | Let it eat the good days, let it poison the bed, | Keep the grudge fed. | Make an enemy out of anyone close, | (Turn every kindness into something you oppose.) | If peace ever enters, drag the past instead. | Keep it breathing. | Keep the grudge fed. | [Outro] | The phone never rings. | The table stays bare. | Nobody comes over. | Nobody cares. | You whisper old arguments | Into the dark, | Still feeding the thing | That ate everyone else.

[Verse 1] | I have several now | They accumulate | Like anything else you don't throw out | And they are scattered through the year | At intervals I did not choose | And every one of them arrives | Whether I have made arrangements or not | The first ones you brace for | You know it's coming, you plan around it | You take the day off, you go somewhere | You do a thing, you mark it | And that works, more or less | For as long as anybody's watching | And then people forget the dates | And you are on your own with them | [Refrain] | The date comes around regardless | It does not check whether I'm ready | It does not care that I had a good stretch | Or that I have work due | It arrives like weather arrives | Indifferent, on schedule | And I am the only one on this earth | Who knows what day it is | [Verse 2] | The body knows before I do | There's a stretch of about a week | Where everything is slightly wrong | I sleep badly, I snap at nothing | The work goes thin and I can't say why | And then I look | And the date is in a day or two | Every time | Every single time | I have not beaten it once | The body has the calendar | And does not share it with me | It just starts the process | Like an alarm going off in a building | Nobody's occupying | [Bridge] | And what do you do with it | There's no procedure for a day | Whose only content is a number | Do I go somewhere | Do I say her name out loud in the house | Do I look at pictures | Do I make it a whole occasion | I have tried all of it | And nothing is right | Doing something feels like performance | Doing nothing feels like a betrayal | And the day is long | And at the end of it | Nothing has been accomplished or resolved | [Verse 3] | The worst one is the one for him | My father's date, which I resent | For taking up a square | On the same calendar as hers | It comes and I feel the pull of it | And I refuse to give it anything | And refusing takes the whole day | Which means he got it anyway | Even the ignoring is attendance | I can't mark it and I can't skip it | Both cost me the same afternoon | And I have never worked out | Whether a man who did what he did | Gets to keep a square | And I have never been able to take it off him | [Refrain] | The date comes around regardless | And it will keep coming | Long after anybody else | Would be able to name it | When I go, those dates go | Nobody inherits an anniversary | They'll just be days again | Which is either mercy or the last of it | [Ending] | People ask if I'm doing anything for it | I say no | Then I do nothing | All day | On purpose | Which is doing something

[Verse 1] | He buys another bottle marked with years erased, | Swallows every promise science hasn't learned to make. | Counts his morning heartbeat like a balance in the bank, | Runs five miles harder when the mirror calls him back. | Gray gets dyed black, wrinkles disappear, | Every little alteration pushes terror from the mirror. | His friends start vanishing from contacts on the phone, | He calls them unlucky, then drives home alone. | The doctor finds a shadow and recommends a scan, | He laughs about statistics like a bulletproof man. | Says people worry early, says he'll probably be fine, | Then cancels every follow-up and pours another wine. | His father reached seventy, his grandfather more, | He treats inherited numbers like a lock upon the door. | The body sends invoices he refuses to read, | While every new supplement gets swallowed like a creed. | [Pre-Chorus] | Not now. | Not here. | Not while the heart keeps beating clear. | Push it back. | Change the page. | Call every warning ordinary age. | [Chorus] | The calendar is lying, | Those numbers can't be mine. | Keep another candle hidden, | Keep pretending there's more time. | Paint the gray and buy the miracle, | Put another decade on the shelf. | Everybody else keeps disappearing. | That happens to somebody else. | Don't say the word. | Don't bring it near. | Keep that final fact outside the mirror. | [Verse 2] | She keeps her mother's bedroom the way it was before, | Slippers by the dresser, coat behind the door. | Mail still gets stacked beside the empty chair, | Two cups placed for coffee though only one sits there. | Friends speak carefully, avoiding certain facts, | She talks about next year like her mother might come back. | The urn stays hidden underneath a folded sheet, | A silence made physical nobody wants to meet. | She won't sign the papers that close the account, | Won't sell the old car or clear anything out. | Says grief is for people who surrender too soon, | Then turns the television louder every afternoon. | A voicemail gets played till the speaker distorts, | One ordinary greeting becoming life support. | Nobody corrects her when she says "we" instead of "I." | [Chorus] | The calendar is lying, | Those numbers can't be mine. | Keep another candle hidden, | Keep pretending there's more time. | Paint the gray and buy the miracle, | Put another decade on the shelf. | Everybody else keeps disappearing. | That happens to somebody else. | Don't say the word. | Don't bring it near. | Keep that final fact outside the mirror. | [Bridge] | Build bigger houses. | Buy younger skin. | Freeze little pieces and promise they'll begin | Again when medicine catches the years, | When laboratories finally bargain with fear. | Upload the memories. | Archive the voice. | (Turn biological limits into consumer choice.) | Spend every fortune. | Fund every machine. | Make oblivion sound like a technical problem unseen. | A billionaire signs up for preservation cold, | Certain enough money can purchase being old. | A preacher says eternity waits past the room, | A skeptic says nothing. | Both still fear the tomb. | Hospitals keep curtains. | Cemeteries keep rows. | Everybody understands. | Nobody wants to know. | [Verse 3] | He turns eighty-seven and buys another car, | Still talks about projects stretching years too far. | His hands shake harder when he signs the deal, | Yet he hates every sentence suggesting limits might be real. | The family speaks gently about papers and affairs, | He changes the subject, complains about the chairs. | Calls funeral planning morbid, wills obscene, | One night his breathing changes halfway through a show, | He waves away the ambulance, says there's nowhere he must go. | His daughter starts pleading, his son grabs the phone, | He curses both of them and says leave him alone. | The television audience erupts in canned applause, | He laughs with them weakly, never hearing the pause. | Outside, an engine idles under parking-lot light. | Inside, he says tomorrow. | He always says tomorrow. | [Final Chorus] | The calendar is lying, | Those numbers can't be mine. | Keep another candle hidden, | Keep pretending there's more time. | Paint the gray and buy the miracle, | Put another decade on the shelf. | Everybody else keeps disappearing. | That happens to somebody else. | Don't say the word. | Don't bring it near. | Keep that final fact outside the mirror. | [Outro] | The forms stay unsigned. | The pills stay beside the bed. | Someone closes the curtains. | Nothing more gets said. | His daughter finds the calendar | With years marked far ahead. | Tomorrow fills the boxes. | The room stays still instead.

[Verse 1] | I woke with a copper taste, | jaw locked hard around a scream. | The room was black, the clock was dead, | and my tongue kept counting things. | One white chip on the pillowcase, | then three more near my hand. | Little bones from a ruined grin, | spilled like dice across the stand. | I ran to the bathroom mirror, | bare feet cold on cracked tile. | My face looked almost like my face, | but the smile had gone hostile. | I touched my lip. | I felt the gap. | Then another piece came loose | and hit the sink like a tiny trap. | [Pre-Chorus] | No blood at first, just panic. | No pain at first, just dread. | Then the drain began to whisper | with a voice from under the bed. | [Chorus] | Spit it out, spit it out, | let the white stones hit the floor. | Every lie I ever carried | comes loose and begs for more. | I try to speak, I choke on ruin, | try to pray, but nothing fits. | The mirror grins with my own mouth | while the whole damn world unzips. | [Verse 2] | The hallway stretched like cheap black rubber, | each door hung wrong and thin. | My mother called from the kitchen, | but I could not answer in. | I found her standing by the stove, | young again and far too still. | She held a plate of little fragments, | said, “You dropped these in the hill.” | The hill was under the table. | The table was under the ground. | The house bent sideways without warning, | and the ceiling made a chewing sound. | I said I’m awake. | She said that’s cute. | Then every picture on the wall | opened wide and followed suit. | [Pre-Chorus] | No blood at first, just panic. | No pain at first, just dread. | Then the floorboards started humming | with the words I never said. | [Chorus] | Spit it out, spit it out, | let the white stones hit the floor. | Every lie I ever carried | comes loose and begs for more. | I try to speak, I choke on ruin, | try to pray, but nothing fits. | The mirror grins with my own mouth | while the whole damn world unzips. | [Bridge] | I kept my fear in perfect rows | till the roots could hold no more. | Every apology I swallowed, | every curse I dressed in calm, | came breaking loose in porcelain shards | and rolling through my palm. | I heard my father in the faucet. | I heard my own laugh in the vent. | I heard a child behind the mirror | ask where the good years went. | I tried to keep the pieces. | I tried to press them back. | But each one grew a little leg | and crawled into the crack. | [Breakdown] | White stones. | Black sink. | Don’t speak. | Don’t think. | Jaw tight. | Light bends. | Grin breaks. | Dream ends. | [Verse 3] | I woke again inside the first room, | same dead clock, same sour sheet. | The pillow lay clean beside me, | but grit still scratched beneath. | I laughed once, weak and crooked, | then stopped when something clicked. | My tongue found one loose secret | hanging by a thread of spit. | The lamp began to flicker. | The dresser leaned too near. | The mirror fogged without a breath | and wrote one word in smear. | I would not read it. | I knew it knew. | The sink coughed hard in the bathroom | and something small fell through. | [Final Chorus] | Spit it out, spit it out, | let the white stones hit the floor. | Every lie I ever carried | comes loose and begs for more. | I try to speak, I choke on ruin, | try to pray, but nothing fits. | The mirror grins with my own mouth | while the whole damn world unzips. | [Outro] | Morning came thin through dirty blinds, | gray dust on the dresser grain. | I sat there holding my lower jaw, | too scared to check again. | Just one more chip beneath my tongue, | and the sink still drinking dreams.

[Verse 1] | You don't need to make decisions, | You look tired when you try. | I've already picked the restaurant, | Already told them you'll arrive. | Your calendar was getting crowded, | Your friends were taking too much time. | I cleared a few things off it. | You should really thank me for the time. | Your boss can wait until tomorrow. | Your mother doesn't need a call. | That book you said you'd finish reading | Can sit there gathering dust. | I've got everything under control. | You can finally take it easy. | Isn't freedom fucking wonderful | When somebody else decides what you need? | [Pre-Chorus] | Don't get up. | I'll get it. | Don't decide. | I'll choose. | You don't have to care about a thing | When I've got so much to lose. | [Chorus] | Let me handle everything, | You can lie there and disappear. | I'll tell you where to go, | Who to trust, | What you need to hear. | You don't have to fight me, | You don't have to make a sound. | I'll build the walls around your life | Then tell you they're keeping danger out. | Stay comfortable. | Stay still. | I'll do the living | For you. | [Verse 2] | I changed the locks last week. | Said the old ones weren't secure. | Stopped your brother at the doorway. | Said he wasn't welcome anymore. | You didn't even ask me why. | You were watching television. | I brought you dinner in a bowl | And put your medication by the chair. | You said you might go out tonight. | I said, “There's nothing waiting there.” | You sighed and sank into the cushions. | That little sigh told me enough. | Why waste energy on wanting things | When wanting things gets complicated? | [Chorus] | Let me handle everything, | You can lie there and disappear. | I'll tell you where to go, | Who to trust, | What you need to hear. | You don't have to fight me, | You don't have to make a sound. | I'll build the walls around your life | Then tell you they're keeping danger out. | Stay comfortable. | Stay still. | I'll do the living | For you. | [Bridge] | At first you called it helpful. | Then you called it easier. | Then you stopped calling it anything. | That's when I knew I'd won. | I gave you fewer choices every day | Until having choices felt like work. | You let me choose your clothes. | Your meals. | Your friends. | Your future. | Your excuses. | Then one morning you asked me, | “What would happen | If I wanted something?” | I laughed. | You looked confused. | I said, | “You'd have to get up.” | You stared at the floor. | Then sat back down. | [Verse 3] | Years passed without a birthday | That you remembered on your own. | Your passport stayed inside the drawer. | Your suitcase stayed beneath the bed. | The world kept moving past the windows. | You barely watched it anymore. | I told everybody you were happy. | You never contradicted me. | One night I came home early | And found you standing by the door. | Shoes on. | Coat buttoned. | Keys inside your hand. | I said, | “Where are you going?” | You looked at me. | Then looked at the door. | Then said, | “I don't know.” | [Final Chorus] | Let me handle everything. | No, wait. | Don't. | You can make your own decisions. | You can fuck them up. | You can waste your time. | You can disappoint somebody. | You can leave the dishes in the sink | And spend the afternoon asleep. | You can be lazy. | You can be selfish. | You can do absolutely nothing. | I thought I conquered you | When you stopped resisting me. | (Turns out I only made myself necessary) | To somebody | Who had forgotten how to live. | [Outro] | You opened the door. | I didn't stop you. | You stood there for a long time. | Then stepped outside. | I stayed inside. | Everything was where I'd put it. | Perfectly controlled. | Perfectly quiet. | Perfectly fucking empty.

[Verse 1] | He never called himself a tyrant, | Tyrants never fucking do, | He said, “Someone has to lead you. | Someone has to choose for you.” | Built the walls to keep them safer, | Put the soldiers by the gates, | Made a list of dangerous questions, | Made another list of names. | Every camera was protection. | Every checkpoint kept the peace. | Every neighbor dragged from dinner | Was regrettable police. | When the prisons started filling, | He explained with patient grace, | “Good men have nothing they should hide.” | Then put microphones in every place. | [Pre-Chorus] | He didn't conquer with a sword. | He conquered with relief. | First make everybody frightened— | Then sell obedience as peace. | [Chorus] | ALL HAIL THE GOOD KING! | He knows what's best for you, | He'll tell you what you're free to say | And which opinions still are true. | ALL HAIL THE GOOD KING! | You can leave whenever you please— | Just surrender your identification, | Your property and keys. | He never stole your freedom. | You traded it away | For one more promise of protection | From the threats he helped create. | [Verse 2] | The newspapers weren't forbidden. | They just learned what not to print. | The comedians weren't arrested. | Their employers got the hint. | The elections still looked lovely. | There were banners everywhere. | Funny how his only rival | Disappeared before the ballots cleared. | Children learned revised editions | Where he'd saved the nation twice, | Where the riots were “disturbances” | And the dead became a line. | Granddad knew a different story. | Granddad whispered after dark. | Then his grandson told the teacher, | And Granddad's chair stayed empty after that. | [Chorus] | ALL HAIL THE GOOD KING! | He knows what's best for you, | He'll tell you what you're free to say | And which opinions still are true. | ALL HAIL THE GOOD KING! | Every sacrifice is small, | Just another tiny liberty | To make things safe for all. | He never stole your freedom. | You traded it away | One reasonable restriction | On one frightening fucking day. | [Verse 3] | Then conquest crossed the border | Wearing humanitarian clothes, | “We're not taking their resources. | We're just helping overthrow | A dangerous administration | That could threaten us someday.” | They bombed the communications. | They occupied the square. | Put another flag above the courthouse, | Called the population free. | When the locals started fighting, | He looked genuinely surprised— | “How ungrateful can these people be? | We only reorganized their lives.” | [Bridge] | Control has learned good manners. | It doesn't always shout. | Sometimes it smiles behind a desk | While slowly locking every exit down. | It asks for temporary powers. | Temporary becomes law. | It asks you for one sacrifice, | Then forgets what sunset clauses are. | Nobody conquers anymore. | They stabilize. | They intervene. | They secure. | They restore. | Nobody steals your country. | They administer the land. | Nobody puts a boot upon your neck. | They provide a firm supporting hand. | [Breakdown] | MAKE THEM SCARED! | MAKE THEM BEG! | THEN GIVE THEM HALF OF WHAT YOU TOOK! | Burn the history! | Write another! | Put your version in the books! | Take the speech! | Take the vote! | Take the road and take the port! | Then tell the conquered population— | “LOOK HOW FREE YOU FUCKERS ARE!” | [Final Chorus] | ALL HAIL THE GOOD KING! | Nobody argues anymore, | Nobody marches in the streets, | Nobody gathers by the door. | ALL HAIL THE GOOD KING! | Every citizen agrees, | Because disagreement has a tendency | To vanish quietly. | He conquered every neighbor. | He controlled each thought and breath. | He finally built the perfect nation— | Quiet, orderly and dead. | [Outro] | Years later, when the statues fell, | They found a room beneath his home. | Six locks. | No windows. | Emergency supplies. | A private telephone. | The man who controlled everybody | Had spent his final years afraid— | Certain someone, somewhere, someday | Might treat him the same fucking way.

[Verse 1] | He built the house with his own two hands, | Put every brick right where he planned, | Told his wife, “I know what I'm doing,” | Then ignored her when the ceiling began to crack. | His son said, “Dad, maybe call somebody.” | He laughed and said, “I built this place.” | By morning there was water in the bedroom | And plaster falling past his face. | He'd rather sleep beneath the wreckage | Than admit somebody else was right. | [Pre-Chorus] | He never needed to be perfect. | He needed never to be wrong. | So every time the truth came knocking, | He built another wall against it. | [Chorus] | HE COULDN'T BEND! | So everything around him broke! | Couldn't say, “I fucked this up,” | Couldn't swallow one damn word. | HE COULDN'T BEND! | He'd rather lose than yield an inch, | (Turn a family into enemies) | Before he'd ever say, “I was wrong.” | Pride put the knife into his hand | Then told him not to bleed. | He didn't lose the people that he loved— | He just refused to need them. | [Verse 2] | His daughter left at twenty-seven, | Said, “Dad, I'm tired of proving shit.” | He answered with a lecture | About everything she'd never built. | She waited for him to stop her. | He waited for her to crawl. | Two people standing ten feet apart, | Neither willing to make the call. | Years went by through mailed-in cards, | Polite and painfully restrained. | He told his friends she was ungrateful. | She told hers he'd never changed. | He kept the photograph beside him, | Never showed it when they came. | [Chorus] | HE COULDN'T BEND! | So everything around him broke! | Couldn't say, “I fucked this up,” | Couldn't swallow one damn word. | HE COULDN'T BEND! | He'd rather lose than yield an inch, | (Turn a family into enemies) | Before he'd ever say, “I was wrong.” | Pride put the knife into his hand | Then told him not to bleed. | He didn't lose the people that he loved— | He just refused to need them. | [Bridge] | I'm talking about the kind that says | “I'd rather suffer than apologize.” | The kind that watches somebody leave | And calls it proof they weren't worth the fight. | The kind that turns a father silent. | (Turns a lover cold.) | (Turns a wounded person into stone) | Just to keep control. | [Breakdown] | SAY IT! | “I WAS WRONG!” | Say it! | “I NEED YOU!” | Say it! | “I'M SORRY!” | Three words. | Three fucking words. | But he'd rather lose them all. | [Final Chorus] | HE COULDN'T BEND! | Now there's nobody left to impress. | No audience. | No argument. | No victory worth the emptiness. | HE COULDN'T BEND! | He won every fight he ever chose. | Kept his dignity intact— | And lost everybody he loved. | The house still stands around him. | Every brick is still in place. | He's got the keys. | He's got the deed. | And nobody inside to hear him say, | “I was wrong.” | [Outro] | His daughter calls one evening. | He stares at the phone. | Lets it ring. | Then answers. | “Hey, Dad.” | His voice breaks before the first word. | “I'm sorry.”

[Verse 1] | I bought the building cheap after the windows all went black, | Kept the old man's chair behind the desk and never gave it back. | Everybody gets a number when they walk in through my door, | Everybody learns which way the elevator goes. | I don't threaten anybody; that's an amateur's mistake, | I just mention what they're risking and let silence do the rest. | Your mortgage, your promotion, your daughter's private school— | Funny how cooperative a man gets when I know more than you. | The cameras don't look hidden. | The locks are painted red. | I like people understanding | Where the exits really end. | [Pre-Chorus] | Sign beneath the dotted line. | Smile when someone takes the shot. | You can keep whatever's yours | After I decide what's not. | [Chorus] | Put your hands where I can see them. | Put your future on the desk. | Give me everything worth keeping, | I'll decide what you get left. | Every room has got a doorway. | Every doorway needs a key. | You can swear you're still your own man— | Just don't try leaving without me. | [Verse 2] | I started with a favor, just a harmless little loan, | Then another favor bought me every weakness that you owned. | I put my people near your people, moved my people up the chain, | Till every order passed through someone answering to me. | Your partners started disappearing from the meetings one by one, | Your signature stayed useful long after your choices were gone. | I never had to fire you; I just took away your chair, | Left your office where it was and moved myself in there. | [Chorus] | Put your hands where I can see them. | Put your future on the desk. | Give me everything worth keeping, | I'll decide what you get left. | Every room has got a doorway. | Every doorway needs a key. | You can swear you're still your own man— | Just don't try leaving without me. | [Verse 3] | The neighborhood went quietly; the city followed soon, | A councilman got generous when photographs appeared. | The paper changed its editor, the station changed its tune, | And every stubborn bastard found his livelihood removed. | I bought the block around you, then the road that brought you in, | Bought the company that paid you and the bank you kept it in. | By the time you called it tyranny, the word had lost its weight— | I owned the microphones, the ink, the locks, the guards, the gates. | No soldiers in the roadway. | No tanks beneath the lights. | Just contracts stacked like sandbags | And a thousand legal knives. | [Bridge] | I don't need you on your knees. | Standing looks much better. | Shake my hand in public. | Tell them we're together. | Tell them this was mutual. | Tell them you agreed. | Tell them every chain I gave you | Was something that you needed. | I don't need your love. | Love wanders when it's bored. | Fear remembers addresses. | Debt remembers more. | And when you finally hate me, | Make damn sure you hate me low— | There are people getting buried | For forgetting what I know. | [Breakdown] | Your house. | My paper. | Your job. | My favor. | Your friends. | My payroll. | Your voice. | My say-so. | Your door. | My key. | Your life— | Look at me. | You don't have to call me anything. | Just answer when I call. | [Final Chorus] | Put your hands where I can see them. | Put what's left out on the desk. | You kept begging for permission | Till permission became breath. | Every room has got a doorway. | Every doorway answers me. | Go ahead and call yourself a free man— | Then ask whether you can leave. | [Outro] | The elevator reaches ground. | The doors pull open wide. | Two men are waiting in the lobby. | Your car is parked outside. | Your hand moves toward your pocket. | One of them shakes his head. | The doors close. | Up you go again.

[Verse 1] | My father built this house from overtime, | Then ruled it like he owned our blood, | Every nail became another reason | We should thank him when he judged. | Dinner waited till he entered, | Nobody spoke above his tone, | He'd point toward the walls and tell us, | “Everything you have, I own.” | He called obedience respect, | Called disagreement being spoiled, | Kept a ledger in his memory | Of every sacrifice and toil. | He never struck us with his fists, | He had something better planned— | He could make a child feel worthless | With a disappointed glance. | [Pre-Chorus] | He'd say, “One day you'll understand | Everything I've fucking done.” | [Chorus] | MY HOUSE! MY RULES! | MY BLOOD! MY WAY! | You'll respect me while you're living here | Or pack your shit today! | MY HOUSE! MY RULES! | I gave you everything you've got! | He needed us to call him righteous | More than he needed us a lot. | Pride doesn't need a throne room. | Just a man who can't admit | He'd rather lose his whole damn family | Than say, “I fucked up. This is it.” | [Verse 2] | His daughter married in the fall. | He wasn't asked to walk the aisle. | Said her husband poisoned her against him, | Then blamed her mother for a while. | His oldest moved three states away | And stopped returning every call. | Dad told anybody listening | He never raised his sons to crawl. | His wife got tired of apologizing | For emotions he refused, | Packed thirty years into a suitcase, | Left the wedding china unused. | He watched her taillights through the curtains, | Jaw clenched hard enough to ache, | Had six seconds to say, “Please don't.” | Said, “You'll realize your mistake.” | [Chorus] | MY HOUSE! MY RULES! | MY BLOOD! MY WAY! | You'll respect me while you're living here | Or pack your shit today! | MY HOUSE! MY RULES! | I gave you everything you've got! | He needed us to call him righteous | More than he needed us a lot. | Pride doesn't need a throne room. | Just a man who can't admit | He'd rather lose his whole damn family | Than say, “I fucked up. This is it.” | [Verse 3] | The season came without the children. | Four clean plates stayed on the shelf. | He cooked enough for seven people, | Then ate dinner by himself. | There were pictures on the mantel, | Every smiling face was old, | Back when being right seemed cheaper, | Back before the house went cold. | His granddaughter turned eleven. | He'd never heard the kid's voice. | Had her number written somewhere, | Calling her remained a choice. | He picked the phone up twice that evening, | Put it down each fucking time— | An apology felt harder | Than another lonely night. | [Bridge] | That's pride. | It's bleeding out behind a barricade | And swearing you never fell. | It's polishing your principles | While photographs collect the dust. | It's demanding to be respected | When you've murdered every trust. | [Breakdown] | DON'T CALL THEM! | THEY SHOULD CALL YOU! | DON'T GIVE IN! | YOU KNOW YOU'RE RIGHT! | Let another birthday vanish! | Let another year go dark! | Hold that grudge like it's a heartbeat! | Hold it tighter every night! | You won every fucking argument! | Congratulations, Dad. | Now look around your empty house | And count the people that you have. | [Final Chorus] | MY HOUSE! MY RULES! | No voices left to raise. | Nobody challenges his judgment. | Nobody disobeys. | MY HOUSE! MY RULES! | Every room belongs to him. | Every chair sits where he wanted. | Every battle ends with him. | He finally got the quiet. | He finally got respect. | No one interrupts his stories. | No one tells him he's incorrect. | [Outro] | Years later when they found him, | The television flickered blue. | Beside the phone lay seven numbers | He'd been too damn proud to use. | On the table sat a birthday card, | Unsigned, addressed, unstamped. | Three words scratched inside in pencil— | “I was wrong.” | He'd crossed them out.

[Verse 1] | I wake with both feet planted in a house I never knew, | Yet every crooked picture holds a photograph I've lived through. | The carpet's soaked beneath me, but the ceiling's bone-dry white, | And something drags a fingernail along the pipes behind the lights. | There's a hallway past the dresser where the window used to be, | Every door along it carries another version of my key. | I open one and find my room. | Same sheets. | Same clock. | Same chair. | Except I'm lying in the bed | And something's standing over me. | [Pre-Chorus] | Don't wake him. | Don't wake me. | Don't ask which one is asleep. | The thing beside the mattress | Just leaned closer when I breathed. | [Chorus] | The bedroom has no outside. | Every doorway brings me back. | Every window shows the hallway | With a figure dressed in black. | I can run until my lungs tear. | I can kick through every wall. | I'll wake up underneath these sheets | And hear those bare feet in the hall. | The bedroom has no outside. | Something knows the shortest way back in. | [Verse 2] | I crawl beneath the window and the yard is upside down, | Cars hang underneath the roadway, chimneys point into the ground. | My neighbor stands across the street with both hands on the glass, | Mouthing something I can't understand— | Then something pulls him back. | The porch light starts to flicker. | One. | Two. | Three. | Then stays red. | A child's voice beneath the floorboards says, “You shouldn't be in bed.” | I tell myself I'm sleeping. | It laughs from underneath. | Then another little voice replies, | “He always says that when he sees us.” | [Chorus] | The bedroom has no outside. | Every doorway brings me back. | Every window shows the hallway | With a figure dressed in black. | I can run until my lungs tear. | I can kick through every wall. | I'll wake up underneath these sheets | And hear those bare feet in the hall. | The bedroom has no outside. | Something knows the shortest way back in. | [Verse 3] | The clock begins counting backward from a number I can't read, | Every second takes a picture from the photographs of me. | My father disappears first. | Then the house. | Then half my face. | The figure in the hallway | Moves one doorway closer each erase. | I slam the bedroom door shut. | There's no handle on my side. | Something scratches four long lines | Across the wood at shoulder height. | Then silence. | Then my own voice | From the other side says low, | “Open up. | I finally figured out | Which one of us has got to go.” | [Bridge] | Wake. | Room. | Clock. | Three thirteen. | Wake. | Room. | Clock. | Three thirteen. | Wake. | Room— | Different sheets. | Different hands. | Different body underneath. | Don't look down. | Don't look— | Fuck. | Those aren't my feet. | [Breakdown] | Door creaks. | Hallway breathes. | Bare feet stop outside. | Knock. | Knock. | Knock. | My voice. | “Let me in.” | No. | Knock. | “Then I'll use the other door.” | What other— | Closet opens. | [Final Chorus] | The bedroom has no outside. | Every doorway brings it near. | Every time I think I'm waking, | Something else is waking here. | I can run until my lungs tear. | I can claw through plaster walls. | I'll end up underneath these sheets | With those footsteps in the hall. | The bedroom has no outside. | And now the hallway's underneath the bed. | [Outro] | Morning. | Sunlight. | Traffic. | My clock reads 8:26. | I laugh. | Then notice wet footprints | Leading from the closet | To my side of the bed. | One fresh print appears. | Then another.

[Verse 1] | It started with a cough one spring, | A little blood against the white, | He washed it down the bathroom sink | And went to fucking work that night. | There were bills stacked on the counter, | There was dinner getting cold, | There were fifty better reasons | Not to hear what he'd been told. | The doctor turned the screen toward him, | Pointed where the shadow grew, | Used careful words like ammunition | That had already passed straight through. | He stared hard at the little bastard, | Barely bigger than a dime, | Thinking something that fucking small | Had no right to own his time. | [Pre-Chorus] | No thunder. | No warning shot. | No monster underneath the bed. | Just cells forgetting when to stop | And multiplying instead. | [Chorus] | THE BODY KEEPS RECEIPTS! | Every poison, every scar, | Every night you thought you cheated | Something waiting in the dark. | THE BODY KEEPS RECEIPTS! | Written underneath the skin, | Disease doesn't need permission— | It was born already in. | You can curse it, cut it, burn it, | Pump the chemicals and pray, | But your own flesh knows every weakness | And it never looks away. | [Verse 2] | Across town she's counting tablets, | Morning again, twenty-three, | Trying not to let her children | See her hands shake violently. | Her hair collects along the pillow, | Food tastes somewhere close to tin, | Everyone keeps calling her a fighter | When she's fucking tired of winning. | She doesn't want another slogan. | Doesn't want another bear. | Doesn't need a pink damn ribbon | To confirm the thing is there. | She wants a plain day back from treatment. | Wants to bitch about the rain. | Wants one boring fucking afternoon | That isn't measured out in pain. | [Chorus] | THE BODY KEEPS RECEIPTS! | Every poison, every scar, | Every night you thought you cheated | Something waiting in the dark. | THE BODY KEEPS RECEIPTS! | Written underneath the skin, | Disease doesn't need permission— | It was born already in. | You can curse it, cut it, burn it, | Pump the chemicals and pray, | But your own flesh knows every weakness | And it never looks away. | [Verse 3] | There's a child behind a plastic wall. | There's an old man learning stairs. | There's a woman losing language | While her husband combs her hair. | There's a warehouse worker coughing | Through another double shift, | There's a nurse who knows the numbers | And still hopes the numbers shift. | No courtroom and no sentence, | No fairness underneath— | Just biology with dirty hands | Taking pieces while you breathe. | [Bridge] | Don't tell me pain builds character. | Don't tell me suffering makes us wise. | I've watched good people shrink to shadows | While hope got weaponized. | Sometimes medicine buys decades. | Sometimes nothing buys a week. | Sometimes bravery is vomiting | Then crawling back to bed. | Sometimes it's signing paperwork | And saying what you want when you're dead. | [Breakdown] | CUT IT OUT! | BURN IT DOWN! | FLOOD THE VEINS! | SCAN AGAIN! | Count the cells! | Check the blood! | Read the chart! | Try again! | Your body is the battlefield, | The weapon and the wound— | And every fucking victory | Can disappear by summer. | [Final Chorus] | THE BODY KEEPS RECEIPTS! | Every treatment leaves its mark, | Every scar becomes a record | Of what happened in the dark. | No promise that you'll beat it. | No lie that makes it fair. | Just whatever time remains to you | And what you put inside it there. | [Outro] | The phone rings early. | He already knows the voice. | The doctor says, "We found another—" | He closes both his eyes. | Then says, | "Tell me what we do."