Aspect Ratio Lyrics

They keep the center where the smile still works, | trim the left where the hand went missing, | trim the right where somebody flinched, | tighten the edges until the lie looks intentional. | Leave out the chair kicked sideways. | Leave out the handprint near the door. | Leave out the mouth forming something ugly | right before the perfect picture held. | Aspect ratio, | cut it clean, cut it close. | Keep what flatters, | lose what knows. | Aspect ratio, | every inch outside the frame | still happened, | still happened, | still happened. | He looks taller when the floor disappears. | She looks happier when the other face is gone. | They look richer without the overdue stack, | look faithful without the second glass. | Crop the witness. | Crop the bruise. | Crop whatever asks a harder question. | Move the border half an inch | and innocence fits beautifully. | Aspect ratio, | cut it clean, cut it close. | Keep what flatters, | lose what knows. | Aspect ratio, | every inch outside the frame | still happened, | still happened, | still happened. | A hand can vanish. | A body can vanish. | A whole fucking history can disappear | without moving anything but the edge. | That’s the useful part. | The kiss stays. | The recoil goes. | The applause stays. | The empty seats go. | The expensive suit stays. | The borrowed money goes. | The smiling family stays. | The locked bedroom goes. | Push the border inward. | There. | Cleaner. | Push it again. | Better. | Soon there’s barely enough left | to prove anybody lived there. | Aspect ratio, | make the picture behave. | Cut the panic, | keep the praise. | Aspect ratio, | every missing inch becomes | somebody else’s problem | once it leaves the frame. | She knows which side photographs kinder. | He knows which angle hides the shake. | They both know where the crop belongs | when the truth gets inconvenient. | No one has to forge a thing. | That would take effort. | Just remove the part | that ruins the version people came to see. | Keep the hand without the shove. | Keep the laugh without the insult. | Keep the bed without the distance. | Keep the medal without the bodies. | Keep the mansion without the debt. | Keep the victory without the wreckage. | Aspect ratio, | cut it clean, cut it close. | Keep what flatters, | lose what knows. | Aspect ratio, | make the border do the dirty work | then hang the picture straight. | The edge moves inward. | Again. | A shoulder disappears. | Again. | A second face. | Again. | The mess on the floor. | Again. | The hand near the door. | Again. | Nothing left now | but the smile. | Move the edge again.

[Verse 1] | Neon bends on the boulevard glass, | cheap motel gods with a blade-thin laugh. | She walks in hard with a switchblade sway, | hips writing threats down a wet one-way. | Every head turns like a rigged machine, | cash in the air, sweat on the scene. | Lipstick lit like a lit fuse spark, | black dress cut for a knife in the dark. | Barstools creak, old sinners stare, | smoke curls low through electric air. | She knows the weight of a room gone dumb, | knows how want makes a weak man come. | Not love, not faith, not soft romance, | just a crooked hymn for a dirty dance. | Red nails tap on the rim of a glass, | counting each fool who forgets his past. | [Pre-Chorus] | The jukebox chokes on a backbeat sin, | floorboards shake when she pulls them in. | Every vow gets sold for a touch, | every saint finds out he wants too much. | [Chorus] | Skin, sweat, heat, and hell, | ring that hunger like a cracked church bell. | Take the room, take the breath, | make good men bargain with regret. | Curves like crime under broken light, | mouths go dry in the wound of night. | All of it calls, all of it burns, | all of it takes what never returns. | [Verse 2] | She laughs like rent money set on fire, | like trouble learned how to walk in higher. | Gold chain swings on a borrowed chest, | half the room starts failing its test. | Some came lonely, some came mean, | some came polished and some came clean. | By midnight none of that matters much, | when pride gets stripped by a wanted touch. | A hand slides cash through a bathroom crack, | a wedding band sweats in a pocket black. | The mirror sees what the liars hide, | powdered noses, red-rimmed eyes. | Her body moves like a hard command, | no mercy left in the shape of a hand. | Every inch turns debt into flame, | every glance drags blood into shame. | [Pre-Chorus] | The jukebox chokes on a backbeat sin, | floorboards shake when she pulls them in. | Every vow gets sold for a touch, | every saint finds out he wants too much. | [Chorus] | Skin, sweat, heat, and hell, | ring that hunger like a cracked church bell. | Take the room, take the breath, | make good men bargain with regret. | Curves like crime under broken light, | mouths go dry in the wound of night. | All of it calls, all of it burns, | all of it takes what never returns. | [Bridge] | There’s a preacher in the corner with his collar undone, | whispering prayers to a loaded gun. | There’s a banker near the stage with a dead-eyed grin, | counting her steps like compound sin. | There’s a husband texting lies by the hall, | wife on the screen, back to the wall. | There’s a boy grown old in a single drink, | watching his rent and his reason sink. | She ain’t an angel, ain’t a cure, | ain’t a dream made safe or pure. | She’s flesh under lights in a hard red room, | a walking bill coming due real soon. | She takes the stare, turns it back, | leaves every wolf with a leash gone slack. | [Final Chorus] | Skin, sweat, heat, and hell, | ring that hunger like a cracked church bell. | Take the room, take the breath, | make good men bargain with regret. | Curves like crime under broken light, | mouths go dry in the wound of night. | All of it calls, all of it burns, | all of it takes what never returns. | [Outro] | Last call bleeds through a blown-out sign, | chairs flipped up on a trail of lime. | She leaves alone through the service door, | heels clicking debt on a greasy floor. | Back inside, some drunk still pleads, | hands full of smoke, eyes full of greed. | The noise stops, then hungry again, | waiting for skin to start the engine.

You came through the door like you owned the place | Leather jacket, wicked little smile on your face | Dropped your keys on the kitchen floor | Then backed me against the goddamn door | You said, “Don't talk, don't make this sweet | I didn't come here for poetry” | I laughed and said, “Well, that's a shame” | Then you kissed me hard enough to forget my own name | We ain't making love | We ain't playing nice | We're the same bad decision | Made over and over tonight | FUCKING! | No promises, no alibis | FUCKING! | Just your body against mine | FUCKING! | Till the sheets come off the bed | FUCKING! | Till we can't remember what we said | You pulled my shirt across the room | I kicked the bedroom door into the wall | You laughed when I grabbed your waist | Like you'd already measured how far I'd fall | Your nails left little red reminders | Across my back and down my side | You whispered something filthy in my ear | And I swear the fucking ceiling started moving wide | We ain't making love | We ain't fixing hearts | We're just hungry animals | Tearing through the dark | FUCKING! | No promises, no alibis | FUCKING! | Just your body against mine | FUCKING! | Till the sheets come off the bed | FUCKING! | Till we can't remember what we said | You climbed on top and laughed | Said, “You wanted this, didn't you?” | I said, “Hell yes.” | You said, “Good.” | Then everything went black except you | The neighbors can complain tomorrow | The landlord can pound on the wall | Tonight we've got nothing worth protecting | And absolutely nothing left to lose at all | FUCKING! | Like the world is gonna end | FUCKING! | Like we won't wake up again | FUCKING! | Bite my lip and pull me near | FUCKING! | Make me forget why I'm supposed to fear | Morning crawled across the curtains | We were tangled on the floor | Your lipstick stained my pillow | And my clothes were scattered by the door | You looked at me and started laughing | I said, “Don't you dare say love” | You said, “Relax, asshole, I'm leaving” | Then kissed me once and fucked me up | Not my heart | Not my soul | Just my head | And self-control | We ain't making love | We never were | We were nobody's business | Who knew what the hell we wanted | FUCKING! | No promises, no alibis | FUCKING! | Just your body against mine | FUCKING! | One night burning through the sheets | FUCKING! | Filthy sinners with nothing left to keep | And if you call me tomorrow | I'll probably answer the phone | If you don't, that's fine too | I never asked you to stay home | FUCKING! | That's all it ever had to be | FUCKING! | You and me | FUCKING! | No forever, nothing owed | FUCKING! | Just one hell of a way to say goodbye.

[Verse 1] | County dirt behind the chain-link fence, | sun-bleached tags wired to leaning stakes. | A plastic flower cracks in the heat, | pink dust caught where the gravel breaks. | No choir came, no brothers wept, | no polished box, no black suit show. | Just two men smoking by a backhoe pit, | lowering somebody nobody knows. | Cardboard records in a courthouse drawer, | ink gone brown on a welfare sheet. | One bent shovel, one cracked hymn, | clay stuck hard to the workers’ feet. | A woman once laughed in a kitchen light, | a man once cursed at a union clock. | Now they lie past the mower shed, | under weed root, lime, and rock. | [Pre-Chorus] | Wind scrapes tin on the cemetery gate, | rainwater gathers in a cup of slate. | The living hurry past that hill, | and the ground keeps taking what the world won’t fill. | [Chorus] | No flowers, no candles, no hand on stone, | just dirt over dirt where the poor sleep alone. | No bell, no prayer, no last warm word, | only black crows picking at the curb. | They were loved, they were lost, they were thrown away, | buried out back where the paupers stay. | No one comes, no one sings, no one knows, | grass grows tall in the unvisited row. | [Verse 2] | Rooming-house fire on the east-side block, | twelve went down in the smoke and wire. | Paper ran small on page seventeen, | under car ads and a tire buyer. | A boy with scars on his knuckle skin, | a nurse with rent in a coffee tin. | A drunk who carried his sister’s photo, | a seamstress thin as a safety pin. | Hospital freezer with a buzzing light, | toe tag curled by the ankle cord. | Clerk reads numbers from a clipboard stack, | then shuts the drawer and thanks the Lord. | Ash in a jar at the county desk, | box marked plain with a crooked line. | Six months pass, then the shelf gets cleared, | one more soul in the landfill shine. | [Pre-Chorus] | Wind scrapes tin on the cemetery gate, | rainwater gathers in a cup of slate. | The living hurry past that hill, | and the ground keeps taking what the world won’t fill. | [Chorus] | No flowers, no candles, no hand on stone, | just dirt over dirt where the poor sleep alone. | No bell, no prayer, no last warm word, | only black crows picking at the curb. | They were loved, they were lost, they were thrown away, | buried out back where the paupers stay. | No one comes, no one sings, no one knows, | grass grows tall in the unvisited row. | [Bridge] | There’s a soldier under marker clay, | war medal pawned for a month of bread. | There’s a mother under county lime, | three kids scattered, file gone red. | There’s a girl from the overpass camp, | frostbit hands and a thrift-store coat. | There’s an old man found by the river wall, | half a prayer stuck low in his throat. | They had birthdays, debts, bad jokes, | favorite songs and broken chairs. | They had bills in kitchen drawers, | lovers’ hair on borrowed stairs. | Now the mower coughs above their sleep, | and loose cans roll along the wall. | [Final Chorus] | No flowers, no candles, no hand on stone, | just dirt over dirt where the poor sleep alone. | No bell, no prayer, no last warm word, | only black crows picking at the curb. | They were loved, they were lost, they were thrown away, | buried out back where the paupers stay. | No one comes, no one sings, no one knows, | grass grows tall in the unvisited row. | [Outro] | Evening sinks on the potter’s field, | rusted fence hums by the road. | A city truck slows, then passes on, | spraying dust where the ditch weeds grow. | Under the hill, the quiet crowd | keeps its counsel in the clay. | A fresh stake waits by the backhoe track, | and another box comes in by gray.

[Verse 1] | The radio talks between stations, | Not words, but close enough, | A little hiss beneath the ceiling, | A little laugh behind the hum. | The clock keeps skipping every third beat, | The hallway stretches past the door, | And someone keeps moving the kitchen chairs | Two inches closer to the floor. | There’s writing underneath the table | In pencil pressed into the grain. | Three lines crossed through, one left readable— | YOU’LL HEAR ME WHEN IT RAINS. | Outside, the sky stays empty. | Inside, the faucet starts. | [Pre-Chorus] | Don’t count the windows. | Don’t count the stairs. | Don’t trust the breathing from the chair. | Every answer grows another mouth. | Every mouth says, “You were there.” | [Chorus] | There’s somebody in the static, | Somebody underneath the sound. | Every signal breaks in pieces | And puts something else around. | The walls keep trading places, | The floor won’t hold one shape. | Every time the room goes quiet, | Something whispers, “You’re awake.” | There’s somebody in the static. | And they know the moment I listen. | [Verse 2] | The mirror keeps one second extra, | Long enough to make it wrong. | I turn away, it keeps on watching, | Then catches up and moves along. | I cover it with an old bedsheet, | Wake to find the cloth out back, | Folded square beneath the mailbox | With wet footprints down the path. | The neighbor says he saw me standing | In the yard around three-ten. | I tell him I was locked inside. | He says, “Yeah. | You told me that then.” | He won’t meet my eyes after. | [Chorus] | There’s somebody in the static, | Somebody underneath the sound. | Every signal breaks in pieces | And puts something else around. | The walls keep trading places, | The floor won’t hold one shape. | Every time the room goes quiet, | Something whispers, “You’re awake.” | There’s somebody in the static. | And they know the moment I listen. | [Verse 3] | I start leaving tape on doorframes, | Little marks above the locks, | By morning half of them are broken, | Half are missing from the box. | The basement door has seven scratches, | All inside and waist-high. | There’s dust across every shelf down there | Except one perfect line. | A chair faces toward the furnace. | On the seat, my missing phone. | Battery full. | Camera open. | Twenty pictures of the stairs. | Every picture taken upward. | Every one shows me alone. | [Bridge] | Don’t say stress. | Don’t say sleep. | Don’t hand me pills and call it deep. | Don’t tell me rooms can’t breathe at night. | I’ve heard them fucking breathe. | Then tell me why the voice in the vent | Knows what I haven’t said yet. | [Breakdown] | Knock once. | Nothing. | Knock twice. | Nothing. | Knock three— | Three knocks back. | Pause. | Again. | Same pattern. | Same wall. | Different room. | No. | No fucking room there. | [Verse 4] | Now every clock in the house is covered, | Every mirror turned to face the wall, | Furniture pushed against the bedroom, | Every cabinet taped shut. | The phone begins to ring at midnight | From a number matching mine. | I answer once. | Hear breathing. | Then myself on the other line. | Not talking now. | Sobbing. | Trying hard to whisper low— | “Don’t open the bedroom door.” | The handle starts to turn. | Slow. | [Final Chorus] | There’s somebody in the static, | Somebody underneath the sound. | Every signal breaks in pieces | And puts something else around. | The walls keep trading places, | The floor won’t hold one shape. | Every time the room goes quiet, | Something whispers, “You’re awake.” | There’s somebody in the static. | Maybe more than one. | [Outro] | The radio clicks on. | No station. | Just breathing. | The bedroom door is still closed. | The chair is back in the kitchen. | The wet footprints stop beside it. | One fresh pencil line | appears beneath the table. | YOU HEARD ME. | The faucet starts again.

One silver shoe beneath the chair, | heel scarred white along the edge, | one thin strap twisted under itself, | one little piece of somebody | who decided the rest could stay behind. | The cleaner turns it in one hand, | checks beneath the seat, | checks the corner, | finds nothing that completes it. | Lost and found gets hungry | for things nobody comes back to claim. | One silver shoe, | where the hell did she go? | One silver shoe, | and the other one knows. | She walked out barefoot, | left the pretty half behind, | one silver shoe | and everything outside the line. | No purse beside it. | No coat thrown over anything. | No little trail begging to be followed, | no convenient answer tucked underneath. | Just powder ground into the sole, | a bent buckle, | a dark smear along the heel | that could mean anything | and probably means less. | People leave pieces everywhere. | Receipts. | Earrings. | Keys. | A photograph facedown. | But one shoe feels wrong by itself. | One silver shoe, | where the hell did she go? | One silver shoe, | and the other one knows. | She walked out barefoot, | left the pretty half behind, | one silver shoe | and everything outside the line. | Maybe she was laughing. | Maybe she was furious. | Maybe she carried the other shoe | until carrying anything felt stupid. | Maybe somebody asked. | Maybe nobody did. | None of that stayed. | Only the object gets a box. | Only the object gets a shelf. | Only the thing with no mouth | gets kept long enough to be found. | The cleaner wipes around the empty spot, | pushes the chair back where it belongs, | sets the shoe aside. | That is all the room will admit. | One silver shoe, | bright enough to catch the eye. | One silver shoe, | with no answer on its side. | She walked out barefoot, | or somebody watched her leave, | one silver shoe | and nothing else to read. | Days would make it ordinary, | if days were allowed to matter. | Dust would settle. | Someone would move the box. | Someone would ask whether it was worth keeping. | The buckle would lose its shine. | The heel would stay bent. | The missing half would stay missing. | Somewhere a bare foot hit pavement. | Somewhere another silver heel | went wherever she went. | Or it didn’t. | That part never came back. | One silver shoe, | still waiting without waiting. | One silver shoe, | still saying nothing perfectly. | She walked out barefoot, | left the whole damn ending loose, | one empty space, | one silver shoe. | The cleaner passes it again. | Moves the box. | Keeps moving. | One silver shoe. | Moves the box. | One silver shoe. | Moves—

[Verse 1] | Door shut hard and the whole room changed, | Cheap lamp burning, both of us deranged, | Your jacket hit the floor like a dare thrown down, | My hands found your waist while you pulled me around. | You bit back laughter, then dragged me near, | Breath against my neck, no room left for fear, | Your hips kept time with a merciless drive, | Every nerve in my body came brutally alive. | No candles burning for some pretty lie, | No talk of forever hanging in the sky, | Just sweat on skin and the scrape of the wall, | Two grown bodies choosing to risk it all. | Your fingers dug deep when I pulled you tight, | You cursed in my ear and demanded more bite, | No poetry left once the buttons came loose, | Only heat with a pulse and nothing to prove. | [Pre-Chorus] | Lock turned. | Lights low. | No clean excuse for where this goes. | Skin close. | Breath rough. | One touch never feels like enough. | [Chorus] | Pull me under, drag me in, | Leave your fingerprints beneath my skin, | Make the whole room shake with every move, | No halo here, no lie to prove. | Scratch the silence, break the bed, | Say the filthy thing inside your head, | No promise waiting when morning comes, | Only smoke in our lungs and a pulse that drums. | [Verse 2] | Your shirt hung open, my belt hit the floor, | We stopped pretending we came here for more. | Your mouth found mine with a bruising demand, | My back met plaster, your wrist in my hand. | You pushed me harder, I answered in kind, | No gentle fiction left running behind. | Your thigh crossed mine, then your balance went thin, | A wicked little grin told me pull you back in. | Sheets twisted tight round a half-made mess, | Nails left crescents where your fingers pressed. | You laughed when the headboard struck the wall, | Then pulled me closer like distance was gall. | Breath broke ragged, rhythm lost shape, | Bodies turned reckless with no clean escape. | Every careful thought got stripped to the bone, | Till instinct took over and reason went home. | [Chorus] | Pull me under, drag me in, | Leave your fingerprints beneath my skin, | Make the whole room shake with every move, | No halo here, no lie to prove. | Scratch the silence, break the bed, | Say the filthy thing inside your head, | No promise waiting when morning comes, | Only smoke in our lungs and a pulse that drums. | [Bridge] | No flowers. | No vows. | No holy permission required here now. | No future contract. | No polished disguise. | Just hunger reflected back in open eyes. | You pull my hair. | I grip your hips. | A curse gets broken between your lips. | The mattress shifts. | The lamp burns out. | Neither one asking to be refined. | Harder means harder. | Slower means slow. | A hand can answer what mouths already know. | Nothing gets asked twice, and the restraint comes apart, | Pulse kicking hard like a riot in the dark. | [Verse 3] | Later, the room looks guilty and used, | Clothes in corners, one lampshade bruised. | Your lipstick streaked crooked across my chest, | My shirt hanging dead from the edge of the desk. | You stand by the window pulling clothes into place, | Still flushed, still dangerous, still wearing that face. | Then you cross back over instead of the door, | Drop your jacket again on the floor. | One look between us and reason gets cut, | The lock turns once with a mechanical shut. | No sudden confession, no cleansing sunrise. | Only the room, the heat, the unfinished crime, | And two bodies choosing the same mistake twice. | [Final Chorus] | Pull me under, drag me in, | Leave your fingerprints beneath my skin, | Make the whole room shake with every move, | No halo here, no lie to prove. | Scratch the silence, break the bed, | Say the filthy thing inside your head, | No promise waiting when morning comes, | Only smoke in our lungs and a pulse that drums. | The hallway stays empty. | The clock keeps its grind. | Your jacket hits the floor | For the second time.

[Count] | Gravel first | Then the engine giving up | Then a door | Then nothing for a second | Then a shoe | [Verse 1] | I could not read a clock yet | I could read a man from outside | I knew the weight of an ordinary evening | And the weight of the other kind | The heavy walk meant tired | The heavy walk meant fed | It was the careful one that emptied me | The careful one meant dread | Because a drunk man walks like a surgeon | Placing every step on purpose | Proving to the dark he isn't | Proving nothing to the step | I learned that before multiplication | I learned that before my name in cursive | [Count] | Gravel | Engine | Door | The pause | The shoe | [Verse 2] | My mother's hands would find the volume | Before her face gave anything away | My brother went upstairs at nothing | My sister found a thing to say | We moved like people in a building | Who have all heard the same alarm | And agreed without discussing it | To pretend they hadn't heard | Nobody warned each other | Nobody said his name | We just became a smaller animal | And waited on the frame | Some nights the key went in politely | Some nights it fought the lock | The lock was how we knew | Which father we had got | [Refrain] | Before the key | That's where I live | Not in the hitting | Not in the after | In the little country | Between the car and the hand | Where nothing has happened yet | And everything is planned | [Verse 3] | Understand, I am a grown man | I have paid a mortgage, buried both | I have held a job through worse than this | I have sat with dying folks | And a truck can pull up somewhere near me | And my stomach files a report | Before my mind has been consulted | Before my thoughts have thought | Someone drops keys in an entryway | Somewhere below me, a stranger, nothing | And the boy inside me stands up straight | Like the job was never finished | I have tried to explain this to people | They hear it as a nervous habit | It is not nerves | It is fluency | In a language nobody should have taught me | [Refrain] | Before the key | That's where I live | The worst of it was never landing | The worst of it was waiting for the give | He has been dead a long time now | The car pulled out, the road went dark | Nobody has come up that drive in years | [Count] | Gravel | Engine | Door | I am still counting

I bought a table big enough for twenty | Then filled every chair with things I couldn't eat | A silver platter stacked with excess | While something underneath kept whispering, “More” | I ordered everything on the menu | Just to prove I could throw it away | Bought another bottle when the first wasn't empty | Then another just to celebrate the taste | I don't want hunger | I want the cure | I don't want easy | I want more | GLUTTONY! | The feast never ends | GLUTTONY! | I consume and consume again | GLUTTONY! | Fill the glass till the bottle breaks | Fill the room till the fucking floor shakes | GLUTTONY! | Give me everything you got | I don't need it | I just need the lot | My closet's full of clothes with tags still hanging | My garage has cars I never drive | My house has rooms I've never entered | My phone has numbers I don't recognize | I bought a bigger place | To store the smaller house | Then bought a bigger fucking problem | To make the first one feel worthwhile | I don't want my fill | Enough sounds like death | If I stop reaching for another thing | I'll have to hear my own breath | GLUTTONY! | The feast never ends | GLUTTONY! | I consume and consume again | GLUTTONY! | Fill the glass till the bottle breaks | Fill the room till the fucking floor shakes | GLUTTONY! | Give me everything you got | I don't need it | I just need the lot | The waiter knows my order | The dealer knows my number | The banker knows my balance | And nobody knows my hunger | I can eat past sick | Drink until I can't stand | Buy until the money's gone | And still reach out my hand | MORE! | That's the word beneath it all | MORE! | Till the biggest kingdom falls | MORE! | I don't care what it costs | MORE! | I don't even know what's lost | Then the table finally collapsed | Beneath the whole damn pile | Plates exploding on the marble | And I laughed like a kid at it | For one second there was silence | No music, no applause | No waiter asking what I wanted | No screen showing what I could buy | Just me. | And the hole. | The same fucking hole. | GLUTTONY! | I fed it everything | GLUTTONY! | It ate my life and asked for more | GLUTTONY! | I filled every empty space | Till there wasn't any room for me | GLUTTONY! | The feast never ends | GLUTTONY! | Until the eater disappears | GLUTTONY! | I thought excess meant having it all | Now I'm buried underneath it | And somewhere beneath the wreckage | That old voice starts again | “More.” | The table is broken. | The bottles are empty. | The house is stuffed. | And I'm still fucking hungry.

Cheap house, cheap keys, | cheap enough to stop asking why. | Fresh paint over old brown marks, | soft floor covered just enough to buy. | Everybody knew a little. | Nobody knew enough out loud. | A shrug can carry plenty of weight | when everybody passes it around. | The crack above the doorway | had been there for some time. | The stain behind the cabinet | had been there for some time. | That smell beneath the stairs, | that bow along the floor, | all of it familiar | when somebody asked before. | [PRE-CHORUS] | Long enough to notice, | long enough to learn, | long enough to stop looking | where the cheap paint starts to turn. | [CHORUS] | For some time, | for some time, | that's the phrase that keeps it clean. | Long enough for everybody | to know what it means. | For some time, | for some time, | cheap walls and cheaper alibis. | Take the bargain, turn the key, | keep one hand over your eyes. | Nothing happened yesterday. | Nothing started overnight. | It had all been there for some time, | and the price made that all right. | The floor dips toward the middle. | A glass won't stay where it's set. | There's plaster in the corner | that never quite stays dry yet. | The previous owner knew the patch. | The neighbor knew the stain. | The man who handed over the keys | had learned which questions went away. | Cheap enough to call it character. | Cheap enough to call it mine. | Cheap enough that every warning | could survive as "for some time." | [CHORUS] | For some time, | for some time, | that's the phrase that keeps it clean. | Long enough for everybody | to know what it means. | For some time, | for some time, | cheap walls and cheaper alibis. | Take the bargain, turn the key, | keep one hand over your eyes. | Nothing happened yesterday. | Nothing started overnight. | It had all been there for some time, | and the price made that all right. | [BREAKDOWN] | Don't say rotten. | Say settled. | Don't say leaking. | Say old. | Don't say somebody covered it. | Say nobody really knows. | "For some time." | Good phrase. | Soft around the edges. | Leaves no fingerprints. | Doesn't accuse the hand with the brush, | the hand with the check, | the hand that pushed the cabinet back | against the mark on the wall. | Everybody gets to keep | as much innocence | as the discount requires. | [VERSE] | Now there's another coat of paint | where the brown keeps pushing through. | Another board screwed down too hard | to make the sag look almost true. | Another person learns the trick | of stepping wide beside the sink. | Another mouth says, "It's an old house," | before anybody gets to think. | The bargain keeps its bargain. | The house keeps what it knows. | A little money changes hands, | a little damage changes clothes. | And every time the question comes, | the answer fits the crime. | "Been like that long?" | "Yeah. | For some time." | [FINAL CHORUS] | For some time, | for some time, | long enough to make it normal. | Long enough to quit remembering | who first called the damage small. | For some time, | for some time, | cheap walls and cheaper alibis. | Take the bargain, turn the key, | keep one hand over your eyes. | Nothing happened yesterday. | Nothing started overnight. | It had all been there for some time. | The stain comes back. | Paint it. | The stain comes back. | Paint it. | The stain comes back. | Paint—

[Verse 1] | You laughed too hard at something that bastard barely said, | Threw your head back like you used to when it was me inside your head. | His hand stayed on your shoulder half a second past polite, | You didn't move away from him. | I counted. | Yeah, I timed it. | I watched him bring another drink without asking what you had, | Which means he's learned your order, and I fucking noticed that. | You caught me staring from the bar and mouthed, “What?” across the room. | I shook my head and smiled back. | Then watched him lean toward you. | [Pre-Chorus] | Maybe there's nothing happening. | Maybe nothing's all it is. | But he knows how you take your whiskey, | And I don't fucking like that he knows this. | [Chorus] | You laughed too hard. | He stood too close. | You touched his arm. | Yeah, I fucking saw. | Don't tell me I'm inventing this | The little things you think I miss. | He looks at you the way I do, | And you don't seem to mind that shit. | You laughed too hard. | Now every harmless little thing | Has got another meaning underneath. | [Verse 2] | One evening you said a name in a story about your day, | By the weekend there were more stories where that bastard found a place. | “He said this.” | “He thinks that.” | “He sent me something funny.” | Amazing how one fucking coworker | Suddenly gets mentioned constantly. | I know his dog's got three legs. | I know his brother moved out west. | I know he hates cilantro. | Why the fuck do I know these things? | You say he's just a friend and roll your eyes like I'm a child, | Then the phone lights up between us | And you can't quite hide the smile. | [Chorus] | You laughed too hard. | He stood too close. | You touched his arm. | Yeah, I fucking saw. | Don't tell me I'm inventing this | The little things you think I miss. | He looks at you the way I do, | And you don't seem to mind that shit. | You laughed too hard. | Now every harmless little thing | Has got another meaning underneath. | [Verse 3] | Now I'm measuring the distance when you're sitting on the couch, | Reading punctuation in your texts when you leave your screen turned out. | I know when you're typing him from how your thumbs behave, | Quick little bursts, then waiting, then that smile across your face. | You ask me why I'm quiet. | I say nothing. | You say, “Fine.” | Then spend the rest of the evening with your attention somewhere else. | There's a pressure in my jaw now | Every time that phone goes off, | [Bridge] | I hate his fucking haircut. | I hate his stupid shoes. | I hate that I've invented arguments | With someone I barely know. | I hate that when you mention him | My stomach turns to wire. | I hate imagining his apartment. | His bedroom. | His hands. | Your smile. | Don't tell me to trust you | While you're defending him again. | Don't tell me he's nobody. | Nobody shouldn't matter this much. | [Breakdown] | Buzz. | Look. | Smile. | Type. | Wait. | Buzz. | Look. | Smile. | Fuck. | “Who is it?” | “Nobody.” | Bullshit. | “Let me see.” | “No.” | Why? | “Because you're acting crazy.” | Buzz. | [Final Chorus] | You laughed too hard. | He stayed too long. | You walked him out | When everybody else had gone. | Don't tell me I'm inventing this | The way he looked back through the glass. | Don't tell me that was nothing | When you stood there watching as he left. | You laughed too hard. | Now every little detail | Has a blade hidden underneath. | [Outro] | The table stops talking. | Your phone vibrates against the table. | You look at me. | I look at it. | Nobody's hand moves. | It stops. | Three seconds. | Buzz. | Again.

[Verse 1] | I felt it before they found it, | Little tremor underneath my skin. | Something moved when I wasn't moving, | Something growing where it shouldn't have been. | I kept working through the warning, | Kept pretending pain was just a phase. | Then the doctor stopped explaining | And started choosing careful words to say. | He wouldn't look me in the eyes. | That was when I knew | The bastard had arrived. | [Pre-Chorus] | One scan. | One shadow. | One sentence in the room. | Yesterday I owned the future. | Today the future | Has a fucking expiration date. | [Chorus] | There's a thing inside me | That doesn't know my name. | It doesn't hate me. | It doesn't love me. | It doesn't care who's to blame. | It takes a little piece each morning, | Leaves another scar at night. | I keep calling it a sickness. | It keeps calling me | A place to live. | [Verse 2] | People brought me magic answers, | Every cure they'd heard about. | Change your diet. | Think positive. | Pray the fucking illness out. | One guy said that fear creates it. | I nearly broke his teeth. | He'd never watched his own reflection | Disappear beneath disease. | My family learned the vocabulary | Of things nobody wants to know. | Numbers, scans, stages, treatments, | Words that make a kitchen colder. | Every phone call sounded dangerous. | Every knock became a threat. | [Chorus] | There's a thing inside me | That doesn't know my name. | It doesn't hate me. | It doesn't love me. | It doesn't care who's to blame. | It takes a little piece each morning, | Leaves another scar at night. | I keep calling it a sickness. | It keeps calling me | A place to live. | [Bridge] | The worst part wasn't losing strength. | It was watching people become careful. | My wife measured every sentence. | My friends stopped complaining about their problems. | My children learned to smile | When they were fucking terrified. | Everybody started treating me | Like I was already halfway gone. | One night I finally screamed, | “I'm still here!” | The room went silent. | Then my daughter said, | “I know.” | And those two words | Hit harder than the diagnosis. | [Verse 3] | Treatment burned through me like fire, | Left me shaking, left me weak. | There were mornings I couldn't stand | And nights I couldn't fucking sleep. | But somewhere underneath the damage, | Something stubborn stayed alive. | Not courage. | Not hope. | Just rage. | The simple fucking refusal | To let the bastard choose the time. | I stopped asking why it happened. | Why is a question for somebody | Who thinks the universe keeps receipts. | Cells don't know morality. | Bodies don't know justice. | Sometimes biology just fucks up. | And sometimes you wake up | Inside the mistake. | [Final Chorus] | There's a thing inside me | That still doesn't know my name. | It can take my strength. | Take my sleep. | Take pieces I can't replace. | It can mark me with its fingerprints, | Make every mirror look strange. | But it doesn't get to call me finished. | It doesn't get to call me | Anything. | I'm more than what infected me. | More than every fucking scan. | More than numbers on a clipboard. | More than what my body can't. | The disease can live inside me. | It doesn't get | To become me. | [Outro] | The doctor says, | “We'll see.” | I hate those words. | But I walk outside anyway. | Cold air. | Sunlight. | Cars passing. | People laughing. | The ordinary world | Still turning like nothing happened. | Maybe that's cruel. | Maybe that's beautiful. | Either way, | I'm still fucking here.

The phone rings once and changes the furniture, | puts his empty chair where her lungs used to be. | A voice keeps asking what relation she is, | like blood needs paperwork before it can bleed. | She says she knew the scar beneath his left hand, | knew which pills he forgot, knew which lies meant pain. | The answer comes polished, careful, bloodless. | You’ve got the wrong last name. | Wrong last name, wrong side of the line, | wrong little box where the dead get divided. | She knew every crack in the man they’re describing, | but grief needs permission before they’ll provide it. | Wrong last name, nothing else counts, | not the years, not the keys, not the burn on the couch. | They’ve got the body, she’s got what remains, | and she’s got the wrong last name. | There’s a brown burn mark beside the old ashtray, | small enough nobody else would ever care. | He made it years back and swore he’d fix it, | then covered it whenever company came near. | She rubs it with one thumb while the voice keeps talking, | words trimmed clean enough to leave nothing human. | Identification. Notification. Family contact. | Every sentence shuts another door. | Wrong last name, wrong side of the line, | wrong little box where the dead get divided. | She knew every crack in the man they’re describing, | but grief needs permission before they’ll provide it. | Wrong last name, nothing else counts, | not the years, not the keys, not the burn on the couch. | They’ve got the body, she’s got what remains, | and she’s got the wrong last name. | He hated onions cut too thick. | Slept with one foot outside the sheet. | Couldn’t throw away a broken coffee mug. | Always checked the door twice before sleep. | None of that fits inside the question. | None of that makes her legally near. | A stranger with matching letters gets the call | and she gets whatever silence leaves here. | She doesn’t argue now. | There’s nothing left worth winning from the voice. | Wrong last name, wrong side of the line, | wrong little box where the dead get divided. | She knew every crack in the man they’re describing, | knew what his face looked like when he was frightened. | Wrong last name, say it once more, | make the years disappear from the kitchen floor. | They’ve got the body, somebody else signs, | and she’s got the wrong last name. | The call ends. | The burn mark stays. | Her thumb moves over it once. | Then again. | Then again. | The phone rings. | She lets it ring.

[Verse 1] | The convoy rolled before sunrise, twelve trucks nose to tail, | Past houses punched wide open and a burned-out county jail. | The driver kept his wedding ring taped underneath his glove, | The gunner had a photograph he wouldn't let us touch. | Mile four was dead and empty. | Mile five smelled like fuel. | Mile six, a bicycle lay twisted by a school. | Mile seven, somebody muttered, “This is way too fucking clean.” | Mile eight— | The lead truck disappeared | Inside a wall of heat. | [Pre-Chorus] | One second you're complaining. | Next, your teeth are on the ground. | [Chorus] | Keep driving toward mile nine. | Don't stop to count the dead. | There's another truck behind you | And another one ahead. | Keep driving toward mile nine. | Orders say the road gets cleared. | If the man beside you stops moving, | Push his body out of the gear. | The radio keeps screaming. | The windshield's painted red. | Keep driving toward mile nine— | Nobody said we'd reach the end. | [Verse 2] | The gunner climbed out firing while his door was still in flames, | The driver lay across the dashboard trying to remember his own legs. | Rounds snapped through the windshield, punched white holes into the hood, | Someone screamed for covering fire from somewhere nobody could. | A doorway flashed three times. | The gunner swung around. | Half the second story vanished | Into brick and dust and sound. | Then a woman staggered outward with a child against her chest. | Nobody fired. | Nobody moved. | Then somebody fucking did. | [Chorus] | Keep driving toward mile nine. | Don't stop to count the dead. | There's another truck behind you | And another one ahead. | Keep driving toward mile nine. | Orders say the road gets cleared. | If the man beside you stops moving, | Push his body out of the gear. | The radio keeps screaming. | The windshield's painted red. | Keep driving toward mile nine— | Nobody said we'd reach the end. | [Verse 3] | By noon we'd taken three more blocks nobody planned to keep, | Lost two men beside a market and another crossing the street. | Command called the movement favorable, casualties within range, | While the gunner used a pocketknife to cut him from his straps. | A helicopter thundered low and kicked dust across the dead, | Someone handed us new coordinates before the wounded left. | The map showed one clean arrow | Running straight toward mile nine. | The road showed burning tires, | Broken glass | And fucking mines. | [Bridge] | Advance. | Secure. | Suppress. | Repeat. | Clean little verbs | For filthy fucking streets. | Objective. | Contact. | Acceptable loss. | Nobody writes | “His lower jaw came off.” | Nobody writes | “He called for Dad.” | Nobody writes | “We shot too fast.” | They type a number in a box. | Then send another convoy past. | [Breakdown] | CONTACT LEFT! | DOWN! | Reload! | MOVE! | Where's the gunner? | Behind us. | Where's the driver? | Don't ask. | MOVE! | Mile eight. | Eight and a quarter. | Eight and a half. | The road bends. | Something clicks. | [Final Chorus] | Keep driving toward mile nine. | There's smoke behind the ridge. | There's a body in the roadway | And a rifle by the ditch. | Keep driving toward mile nine. | The order hasn't changed. | Every truck that burns behind us | Gets another number and a date. | The radio keeps screaming. | Someone says we're nearly there. | Mile nine is fifty yards ahead. | The road goes white.

[Verse 1] | You came in half-smiling, | Like you already knew my sin, | Black dress, bare shoulders, slow eyes, | And a dangerous little grin. | You didn't have to touch me. | You hardly said a word. | My imagination did the damage | Before your hand reached mine. | We stood too close for strangers, | Too honest for a lie, | Every inch left between us | Felt like something we could fight. | You said, “You’re looking.” | I said, “I know.” | You laughed and moved away. | That was when I wanted you | More than I had a minute ago. | [Pre-Chorus] | That's the bastard part of lust— | It grows when you deny it. | Give desire a locked door | And watch it fucking climb inside. | [Chorus] | I WANT THE WANTING! | More than I want the prize, | I want the heat before the touch, | The hunger in your eyes. | I WANT THE WANTING! | That electric little lie, | Where every inch I can't possess | Becomes the reason I can't sleep tonight. | Don't give me everything. | Leave something out of reach. | Lust isn't satisfied by having— | It gets drunk on what I can't keep. | [Verse 2] | We finally closed the gap, | And the fantasy came down, | Not shattered, just transformed | When your heartbeat became sound. | Your hands were warm against me, | Your breath caught in my neck, | And suddenly the thing I'd worshipped | Was a living person instead. | That's where lust gets complicated. | Desire wants a perfect thing. | Bodies come with scars and history, | Bad jokes, moods and everything. | I could chase another fantasy, | Another face across the bar, | Or stay right here and learn the difference | Between wanting and knowing who you are. | [Chorus] | I WANT THE WANTING! | More than I want the prize, | I want the heat before the touch, | The hunger in your eyes. | I WANT THE WANTING! | That electric little lie, | Where every inch I can't possess | Becomes the reason I can't sleep tonight. | Don't give me everything. | Leave something out of reach. | Lust isn't satisfied by having— | It gets drunk on what I can't keep. | [Verse 3] | I've mistaken lust for love before, | Called obsession chemistry, | Thought wanting somebody badly | Meant they must belong with me. | (Turned a kiss into a promise,) | (Turned attraction into law,) | Then wondered why the person I desired | Started looking like a stranger. | Lust can make a saint feel filthy, | Make a coward feel alive, | Make you risk a perfect relationship | For fifteen minutes of fire. | It doesn't make you evil. | It doesn't make you wise. | It's just an ancient fucking animal | Wearing expensive clothes and eyes. | [Bridge] | And maybe that's why I love it. | The moment before the kiss. | The breath held in anticipation. | The look that says, | “I know what you're thinking.” | That moment when neither person moves | And everything has already happened | inside the imagination. | That's lust. | The body arrives late. | [Breakdown] | COME CLOSER! | THEN MOVE AWAY! | MAKE ME WANT TOMORROW! | LOOK AT ME! | DON'T TOUCH ME! | NOW COME BACK! | DON'T STOP ME! | HEAT! | HUNGER! | SKIN! | DESIRE! | FEED THE FUCKING FIRE! | I DON'T WANT THE CURE! | I WANT THE FUCKING FEVER! | [Final Chorus] | I WANT THE WANTING! | Let it crawl beneath my skin, | Let me feel that first collision | Before the real world settles in. | I WANT THE WANTING! | Not a promise, not a claim, | Just the both of us knowing | Why we're playing with the flame. | Give me your attention. | Give me that dangerous smile. | Let desire be desire | Without pretending it's forever. | I don't need to own you. | I just want to want you | for a stretch of it. | [Outro] | You walk toward the doorway. | (Turn around before you leave.) | That same knowing little smile. | And suddenly I'm hungry again.

[Opening] | You would think a thing like that | Would hold its place | The last time your hand was on me | Ought to be nailed down | It is the one fact I have tried hardest to keep | And it is the one that will not stay | It moves in the night | And I wake up with a different one | [Verse 1] | For a long while it was the room | Which makes sense, which is tidy | My hand under your hand | Both of us past talking | That is the version I told people | Because it is the one that sounds right | It has the shape of a last touch | It knows what it's supposed to be | Then something gave it up | I could not tell you what | Some ordinary afternoon | And the room got demoted | Because I remembered the car | Days before, you fixing my collar | Both hands, that thing you did | Not thinking about it at all | [Refrain] | The last touch kept changing | And there's no appealing it | There's no record, there's no witness | Just a man and his own head | Every version has been the true one | For a season, then it isn't | And what that means is I have lost it | Over and over, the same moment | [Verse 2] | Here's what I have worked out | The room does not really count | By then it was a kind of tending | It was care, it was procedure | The real last touch was casual | It was somebody reaching past me | Not knowing it was anything | Not saving it, not marking it | And that's the cruelty of the whole design | The important ones come unannounced | Nobody gets a bell | Nobody gets to concentrate | You get the last of something | While thinking about the traffic | And the good ones, the ones you'd choose | Were spent on nothing years before | [Bridge] | I have tried to settle it by force | Decide, and stop revisiting | Pick one, write it down, be done | I have genuinely tried that | It lasts about a season | Then the head goes back to work | It is not sentiment doing this | It is something colder, and it will not stop | Grief is supposed to soften | That's the advertised version | Instead mine got precise | And then it got unreliable | It went through everything I have | Looking for the correct one | And every time it thinks it's found it | It changes what the others were | [Verse 3] | I used to think memory was storage | A place where things get kept | It isn't, it's a workshop | And it is open all night | And nobody supervises it | And it does not care what it takes apart | It has been in there with your hands | Rearranging them for years | So I do not have a last touch | I have a rotation | Which is either much worse | Or is the only way I still have any | [Refrain] | The last touch kept changing | And I have stopped fighting it | Some nights it's the room | Some nights it's a hand on my back going past | And I no longer try to rule | On which one gets to be it | I take whichever one shows up | And I do not ask it questions | [Ending] | Last night it was the kitchen | Her hand on my back going past | Tonight it will be something else | I have stopped writing them down

[Verse 1] | He built the shop from cinderblock and twenty years of debt, | Put his last initials on the door before the paint had set. | His son learned every wrench by feel, could diagnose by sound, | But every time the kid had one good thought, the old man shut it down. | “I've done this since before you learned which end of life was up.” | Then he'd fix it his own way and charge two hours for fucking up. | Customers began complaining. | His son knew what to change. | Dad would rather lose the business | Than admit the kid was right again. | [Pre-Chorus] | Don't offer him a hand. | He'll call it charity. | He'd drown beside a lifeboat | If somebody else threw the rope. | [Chorus] | He'd rather bleed than bend. | Rather break than take advice. | Rather burn the whole damn building | Than admit he wasn't right. | Every bridge becomes a battlefield. | Every kindness leaves a debt. | He'd rather bleed than bend— | And he ain't fucking bending yet. | [Verse 2] | His wife found blood beside the sink and told him, “Call the doc.” | He wiped it with a towel and said, “Quit worrying. I'm not soft.” | Three months later the weight had fallen off his frame, | Still he worked through every warning like endurance cured the pain. | His daughter made an appointment. | He found out and canceled it. | Said, “Nobody makes decisions for me.” | Then coughed until he had to sit. | She stood beside the doorway, | Too furious now to cry. | He looked her straight between the eyes. | “I'm fucking fine.” | [Chorus] | He'd rather bleed than bend. | Rather break than take advice. | Rather burn the whole damn building | Than admit he wasn't right. | Every bridge becomes a battlefield. | Every kindness leaves a debt. | He'd rather bleed than bend— | And he ain't fucking bending yet. | [Verse 3] | The bank called one morning about payments running late, | His son offered enough money to keep wolves outside the gate. | Dad pushed the check across the desk like it had shit across the ink. | “I don't need my kid to save me.” | Son said, “That's not what this is.” | Wrong sentence. | The old man stood so fast his chair went backward through the wall. | Said he'd built the place from nothing and could damn well watch it fall. | His son stared for a second, | Put the check back in his coat. | “Fine.” | That single word cut deeper | Than anything they'd said before. | [Bridge] | Don't pity him. | Don't help him. | Don't ever see him weak. | Don't mention that his hands now shake | When reaching for his keys. | Don't say the shop is failing. | Don't say his family's gone. | He doesn't lose. | People betray him. | He isn't wrong. | People lie. | He isn't scared. | He's fucking angry. | There's always someone else to blame. | [Breakdown] | Doctor? | “No.” | Money? | “No.” | Your son? | “Fuck him.” | Your wife? | “She left.” | Your daughter? | “Busy.” | Need help? | Nothing. | Need help? | “I SAID I'M FINE.” | [Final Chorus] | He'd rather bleed than bend. | Rather break than take advice. | Rather sit inside the wreckage | Still insisting he was right. | Every bridge became a battlefield. | Every hand looked like a threat. | He'd rather bleed than bend— | And he ain't fucking bending yet. | [Outro] | The shop closes early now. | Three bays sit empty. | An envelope from the bank | Waits unopened on the desk. | The phone rings. | He watches it. | Caller ID says SON. | Ring. | Ring. | Ring. | He turns it facedown.

[Verse 1] | You came in wearing black with rain across your skin, | Door barely shut before your fingers pulled me in. | Your mouth hit hard, all teeth and bad intent, | My back found plaster, yours found where my hands went. | Your jacket hit the floor, my shirt followed fast, | Neither one pretending this was built to last. | You dragged me closer with that wicked little grin, | Like distance was an insult and patience was a sin. | Your breath caught once. | Mine went rough. | You whispered, "Closer." | Like close wasn't close enough. | [Pre-Chorus] | No talking slow. | No counting time. | No little rules left standing in line. | Your hands say everything | your mouth won't waste. | [Chorus] | No room left between us, | No air left to spare, | Your hands in my shirt, my fingers in your hair. | Bodies pressed hard till the whole room shakes, | Every kiss rougher than the last one takes. | No clean little picture, no careful disguise, | Just sweat, bad language and that look in your eyes. | Pull me closer till the walls complain. | No room left between us. | Do it again. | [Verse 2] | You shoved me backward, laughing when I swore, | One heel kicked loose somewhere near the door. | Your hair fell wild, lipstick streaked my jaw, | Every decent thought got dragged across the floor. | The bedframe knocked once, then settled into rhythm, | Somebody next door answered through the wall. | You froze for half a second. | Then hit it back. | Three times. | We both fucking lost it. | Your phone lit up. | You turned it facedown. | Mine followed. | [Pre-Chorus] | No talking slow. | No counting time. | No little rules left standing in line. | Your hands say everything | your mouth won't waste. | [Chorus] | No room left between us, | No air left to spare, | Your hands in my shirt, my fingers in your hair. | Bodies pressed hard till the whole room shakes, | Every kiss rougher than the last one takes. | No clean little picture, no careful disguise, | Just sweat, bad language and that look in your eyes. | Pull me closer till the walls complain. | No room left between us. | Do it again. | [Verse 3] | You stood by the dresser trying to catch your breath, | One strap off your shoulder, hair completely wrecked. | I crossed the room. | You watched every step. | Didn't move away. | Didn't fucking blink. | Your hand closed around my collar, | Dragged me down just far enough | for your mouth to brush mine once. | Then stop. | Mean. | Deliberate. | I could feel you smiling. | You knew what that half-inch did. | I grabbed your waist. | You laughed low. | "Better." | [Bridge] | No roses. | No soft-focus lie. | No whispered little future | dragged in to justify the night. | Just heat. | Hands. | Breath. | Skin. | That second when restraint | finally quits pretending it can win. | You pull. | I answer. | You bite. | I swear. | The lamp hits the floor. | Neither one cares. | [Breakdown] | CLOSER. | HARDER. | DON'T BACK OFF. | Hands everywhere. | Breathing lost. | One wall. | One bed. | One hell of a mess. | Your mouth on mine. | My grip tight. | No clock. | No phone. | No world outside. | Again. | Again. | Again. | [Final Chorus] | No room left between us, | No air left to spare, | Your hands in my shirt, my fingers in your hair. | Bodies pressed hard till the whole room shakes, | Every kiss rougher than the last one takes. | No clean little picture, no careful disguise, | Just sweat, bad language and that look in your eyes. | Pull me closer till the walls complain. | No room left between us. | Do it again. | [Outro] | Three in the morning. | Curtain half torn loose. | One shoe by the bathroom. | One under the bed. | The room smells like perfume, sweat and bad decisions. | Somebody knocks. | We ignore it. | Another knock. | We ignore that too. | You look toward the door, | then back to me. | The grin returns. | You grab my shirt. | The knocking keeps going. | Nobody answers.

[Verse 1] | The doctor said my heart was failing, | Like he'd found a leak inside a wall. | I laughed and asked him how much time. | He wouldn't answer that at all. | My wife sat quietly beside me, | Holding both my hands in hers. | Funny how the room gets smaller | When you finally hear the truth. | I've spent my whole life making plans | Like time was something I could save. | Bought a house, raised two children, | Built a business, signed my name. | Now every minute has a weight to it, | Every breath becomes a choice. | Death never knocked upon my doorway. | It was always | In the house. | [Pre-Chorus] | No deal. | No bargain. | No final card to play. | You can own a thousand things. | None of them | Come with you. | [Chorus] | Death gets the last thing I own, | The body underneath my clothes. | Take the money, take the house, | Take the pictures from the walls. | Take every trophy I ever won, | Every lie I told myself. | When the final heartbeat stops, | Death gets the last thing | I can't keep. | [Verse 2] | My son came home from California, | My daughter drove all night. | They stood beside my hospital bed | Trying hard to act all right. | I told them both I wasn't frightened. | That was only half a lie. | I'm not afraid of being finished. | I'm afraid of leaving them behind. | My daughter cried into my shoulder. | My son looked down toward the floor. | I said, "Don't waste your lives protecting | Everything I've worked so hard for." | He asked me what I'd do differently. | I thought about it for a while. | I'd spend more time at this damn table. | I'd have missed a little more work | To see them smile. | [Chorus] | Death gets the last thing I own, | The body underneath my clothes. | Take the money, take the house, | Take the pictures from the walls. | Take every trophy I ever won, | Every lie I told myself. | When the final heartbeat stops, | Death gets the last thing | I can't keep. | [Bridge] | I've seen men beg for another minute. | Rich men. | Poor men. | Good men. | Bastards. | Death is not impressed. | It doesn't check your bank account. | Doesn't read your résumé. | Doesn't ask who loved you most. | Doesn't punish. | Doesn't forgive. | It simply waits | Until the body says enough. | And maybe that's why | Every ordinary morning matters. | Coffee. | Sunlight. | Someone laughing in the next room. | A hand inside your hand. | The stupid little things | You never thought you'd miss. | [Verse 3] | My breathing got much slower | When the evening turned to black. | My wife climbed into bed beside me, | Just like every night we had. | I could hear the children talking | Quietly beyond the door. | I wanted one more morning. | Just one. | Nothing more. | My wife kissed me on the forehead. | She said, "I'm here." | I knew. | I closed my eyes. | For once I wasn't counting | What I had left to lose. | [Final Chorus] | Death gets the last thing I own, | The body underneath my clothes. | Take the money, take the house, | Take the pictures from the walls. | Take every trophy I ever won, | Every scar and every fault. | When the final heartbeat stops, | Death gets the last thing | I can't keep. | It can have this body. | It can have my final breath. | It gets the last thing I own. | It doesn't get | Everything I left. | [Outro] | Morning came without me. | Coffee brewed. | The house woke up. | My wife sat quietly beside the window | With my photograph in her hands. | Death got what it came for. | Nothing more.

[Verse 1] | Found it folded in a shoebox lid, | creased down hard by a shaking thumb. | Kitchen light caught the paper skin, | then the whole damn room went numb. | You stood beside the rusted car, | cigarette tilted, hair blown wild. | One hand raised like a little dare, | one eye squinting, almost child. | Back porch sagged behind your boots, | dog chain curled in the dirt. | Mama’s curtains hung half torn, | Dad’s old truck wore winter hurt. | Nothing grand in that square of time, | no golden hour, no clean display. | Just you laughing at the lens, | one hour left before the day went gray. | [Pre-Chorus] | Flash went off, the engine coughed, | somebody joked, then the smoke rolled soft. | A shutter clicked, the world looked still, | and fate stood quiet by the hill. | [Chorus] | Hold that frame, don’t let it speak, | paper cuts and bourbon weak. | One small smile in a cheap white rim, | one frozen second closing in. | Hold that frame, keep it flat, | keep your ghost under dirty glass. | The noise stops, the wall leans back, | one bright wound in a wooden trap. | [Verse 2] | They found your coat near the county bridge, | mud on the cuffs, sleeve turned out. | Found the bottle, found the blood, | found the tire marks bending south. | Sheriff spoke in a porch-light voice, | boots sunk deep in the gravel lane. | Mama folded at the screen door hard, | Dad went blank and stayed that way. | After that, the house got thin, | plates stayed stacked, chairs kept score. | Your room kept dust on the windowsill, | boots lined neat by the bedroom door. | Every visitor touched that frame, | said you looked alive and free. | I wanted to smash the lying thing, | make it quit looking back at me. | [Pre-Chorus] | Flash went off, the engine coughed, | somebody joked, then the smoke rolled soft. | A shutter clicked, the world looked still, | and fate stood quiet by the hill. | [Chorus] | Hold that frame, don’t let it speak, | paper cuts and bourbon weak. | One small smile in a cheap white rim, | one frozen second closing in. | Hold that frame, keep it flat, | keep your ghost under dirty glass. | The noise stops, the wall leans back, | one bright wound in a wooden trap. | [Bridge] | There’s a cruelty in a happy face | kept too clean past the final call. | It never shows the motel clerk, | the busted rail, the blood on the wall. | It never shows the mother’s hands | shaking over funeral bread. | Never shows the brother drunk | with your jacket near his head. | People say cherish what remains, | like paper can carry bone and breath. | They don’t hear that little frame | scrape all night against the shelf. | I know the road kept moving on, | know weeds climbed over the crash-site stone. | Know bills came due, kids got tall, | paint peeled off the family home. | But inside that glass you never age, | never rot, never curse, never fall. | You keep that grin like a loaded gun, | aimed from the hallway wall. | [Final Chorus] | Hold that frame, don’t let it speak, | paper cuts and bourbon weak. | One small smile in a cheap white rim, | one frozen second closing in. | Hold that frame, keep it flat, | keep your ghost under dirty glass. | The noise stops, the wall leans back, | one bright wound in a wooden trap. | [Outro] | Years went black around the edges, | tape let go, the colors bled. | Mama’s gone, Dad’s chair sits empty, | your coat still smells like shed. | The shoebox waits beneath the bed, | full of receipts, dust, and rust. | I lift that frame with dirty hands, | wipe the glass, and taste the dust. | Your smile stays sharp under the crack, | mine goes crooked in the shine. | Two faces caught in one dead angle, | one already out of time. | I set you back against the lamp, | hear floorboards groan down the hall. | The house goes quiet, then the frame clicks once, | like it took me after all.

You kept your foot against my throat | And called it teaching me respect | You took every kindness I ever showed | And treated every one like debt | I swallowed every fucking insult | I smiled when I wanted to scream | You thought that silence meant forgiveness | You never heard the engine underneath | I kept it down | I kept it clean | I kept the worst thing you've ever seen | Locked behind my teeth | Buried under skin | Waiting for the day | You'd push too far again | WRATH! | I saved it for you | WRATH! | Every word you put me through | WRATH! | Every scar you never saw | Every time you thought I'd crawl | WRATH! | Now there's nothing left to prove | You spent years making me hate you | I saved it for you | You loved the sound of your own voice | Loved watching people lose their nerve | You'd light a match and blame the fire | Then ask me why I never learned | You called me weak when I walked away | Called me dangerous when I stayed | Funny how a man becomes a monster | When somebody finally stops being afraid | I remember every fucking detail | Every hallway, every door | Every lie you told so casually | Every time you asked for more | You thought I'd forget | You thought I'd forgive | You thought time would bury | The reasons that I live | WRATH! | I saved it for you | WRATH! | Every word you put me through | WRATH! | Every scar you never saw | Every time you thought I'd crawl | WRATH! | Now there's nothing left to prove | You spent years making me hate you | I saved it for you | And now you're standing there | Asking what happened to me | Like you weren't holding the match | Like you weren't pouring gasoline | Don't look surprised | Don't ask me why | You spent your whole life | Teaching me how to fight | I don't need revenge | I don't need your blood | I don't need to become you | To know what you've done | I just need you to hear me | Without looking away | You don't get to rewrite | What you did yesterday | WRATH! | This isn't rage without a reason | WRATH! | This is every fucking season | Every wound that never closed | Every truth you decomposed | WRATH! | Every scream I swallowed down | Every time you wore the crown | WRATH! | You made the monster that you fear | Now stand still | And fucking hear | I could burn the whole house down | I could make you feel the flame | But then I'd spend the rest of my life | Carrying another piece of your shame | That's not what you get from me | You don't get to own my end | You don't get to make me ugly | Just because you never learned to bend | So take your lies | Take your throne | Take the kingdom you built alone | Take every word you used like a knife | I'm walking out with what's still mine | My voice. | My blood. | My scars. | My life. | WRATH! | I saved it for you | WRATH! | But I won't become you | WRATH! | That's the part you'll never understand | I could destroy you | But I won't let you hold my hand | You spent years trying to make me afraid | Now you're finally afraid | And that'll do.

You lean in close, I lose the math, | All angle, pressure, nerve and nerve. | One little shift changes everything, | One inch can throw the whole world off. | Your hip finds mine, my pulse goes stupid, | Every clean equation breaks, | Friction makes a better argument | Than anything a mouth can fake. | You know what you’re doing, | Don’t act innocent now. | You bend the distance down to nothing, | Then make me work to close it out. | Every movement pulls another, | Every touch resets the risk, | There’s nothing soft about attraction | When the body talks like this. | The poetry of physics, | Pressure, heat and bad intent, | The poetry of physics, | Every inch already spent. | Push, pull, tilt, collide, | Let momentum pick the side. | The poetry of physics, | And your body gets it right. | You make restraint look temporary, | Make control look badly built. | One hand changes the whole balance, | One smile adds another tilt. | I can feel the point of failure | Before either of us gives, | That sweet little loss of structure | Right before the whole thing slips. | Force meets force and neither yields, | Something has to fucking move. | You bring the pressure, I bring mine, | Let the contact settle proof. | The poetry of physics, | Pressure, heat and bad intent, | The poetry of physics, | Every inch already spent. | Push, pull, tilt, collide, | Let momentum pick the side. | The poetry of physics, | And your body gets it right. | Your balance goes, | Mine follows. | You pull away, | I take the distance back. | You make me wait, | I let the tension stack. | Another inch, | Another shift, | Another little loss of grip. | That look says you enjoy the leverage. | Good. | Use it. | Make me fight the pull between us, | Make me earn the closing space. | Keep that little bit of distance | Long enough to make it ache. | Then come close enough to wreck it, | Close enough to ruin thought, | Close enough that every theory | Ends where we touch. | The poetry of physics, | Pressure, heat and bad intent, | The poetry of physics, | Every inch already spent. | Push, pull, tilt, collide, | Let momentum pick the side. | The poetry of physics, | And your body gets it right. | There’s an angle to your shoulder | That keeps fucking with my head. | There’s a curve beneath my fingers | Making common sense play dead. | There’s a point where want gets heavier | Than whatever held it back, | And we keep pushing past the limit | Just to hear the structure crack. | Push. | Pull. | Hold it there. | Not yet. | That smile again. | You fucking know. | The poetry of physics, | Pressure built until it slips, | The poetry of physics, | Written hard in breath and hips. | Push, pull, tilt, collide, | Nothing steady left inside. | The poetry of physics— | You move closer. | I don’t move back.

[Verse 1] | The telephone rang at 3:04, | Three times, then stopped dead cold. | I hadn't heard that number | Since my father disappeared years ago. | I checked the caller ID twice, | Nothing there but zeroes and a date. | Then it rang again from the kitchen. | I wasn't in the kitchen. | I picked it up. | Nobody spoke. | Then I heard myself breathing | On the other end of the line. | [Pre-Chorus] | “Who's there?” | My own voice answered, | “Don’t look behind you.” | [Chorus] | There's a man who answers the phone | When nobody's calling me. | He knows every room in this house, | Knows where I'm supposed to be. | He tells me what happens tomorrow, | Then laughs when I try to run. | Every time I hang up the receiver, | The bastard | Calls back | From somewhere closer. | [Verse 2] | He told me the kitchen light would flicker. | It did. | Said the hallway door would open. | It did. | Said I'd find a photograph | Inside the drawer beneath my bed. | I found it. | Me at seven years old, | Standing beside my father | In front of a house I didn't recognize. | On the back he'd written, | “HE COMES HOME | WHEN THE PHONE RINGS.” | The phone rang downstairs. | I froze. | Then heard my father's voice. | “Son?” | I hadn't heard that voice | Since I watched them lower him underground. | [Chorus] | There's a man who answers the phone | When nobody's calling me. | He knows every room in this house, | Knows where I'm supposed to be. | He tells me what happens tomorrow, | Then laughs when I try to run. | Every time I hang up the receiver, | The bastard | Calls back | From somewhere closer. | [Bridge] | I ripped the phone from the wall. | It kept ringing. | I threw it through the window. | It rang outside. | I buried it in the backyard. | It rang beneath the dirt. | Then every phone in the neighborhood | Started ringing at once. | Windows opened. | People stepped outside. | Nobody answered. | Nobody moved. | Then every receiver went silent. | Except mine. | It was sitting on the kitchen table. | I hadn't owned another phone | For twenty fucking years. | [Verse 3] | I picked it up. | My father's voice said, | “I'm proud of you.” | I started crying. | Then he whispered, | “Now turn around.” | I couldn't. | I stared at the black window | Over the kitchen sink. | A reflection stood behind me. | Tall. | Thin. | Wearing my clothes. | It raised the receiver | To its own ear. | Then it smiled. | I dropped the phone. | The reflection didn't. | It stepped closer. | I stepped back. | It stepped closer. | Then it spoke through the receiver | Still pressed against its head. | “Tomorrow,” it said, | “you'll answer for me.” | [Final Chorus] | There's a man who answers the phone | And he looks just like me. | He knows every thought I bury, | Every place I don't want to see. | There's a man who answers the phone. | I hear him every night. | And every time I hear it ringing, | I know he's getting closer. | [Outro] | The police found the house empty. | No body. | No broken window. | No telephone. | Just one photograph | Sitting on the kitchen table. | Me at seven years old. | My father beside me. | And behind us, | A tall man | With my face. | Written on the back: | “HE ANSWERED.”