Verse 1 – (die tiefe Seite) I stare into a mirror made of rusted glass, my face a storm that never learned to pass. I’m the shadow on my own sunlit floor, the locked-up room inside a burning corridor. Skin too heavy, thoughts too loud, a fading shape beneath a roaring crowd. “Not good enough,” the walls repeat— my heart keeps time to a broken beat. Pre-Chorus (depressiv, flüsternd): I’m the leftover dream in an empty night, the torn-down banner after a losing fight. Chorus (manisch, überhöht – aber brüchig): But I rise like a flare in the darkest sky, brighter than truth, too bright to lie. I’m a genius, a wildfire, a cosmic spark— lighting up heaven while falling apart. I’m everything, I’m nothing, I’m too much at once— a saint, a sinner, a collapsing sun. ⸻ Verse 2 – (der Fall in die Selbstabwertung) I count my failures like rosary beads, each one a prayer no savior needs. A life half-built, a tower of sand, dreams slipping through a shaking hand. “Who would want me?”—the ceiling groans, the echo answers through my bones. I’m the ghost of plans I never kept, the sleepless boy who’s never slept. Pre-Chorus (verzweifelt): And every step feels like sinking ground, a lost drumbeat with no more sound. Chorus (erneut manisch, lauter, verzerrter): But I’m lightning! I’m mountains! I’m raw and real! A force of nature they cannot kill. I’m a good man, a strong hand, the chosen one— a silver-hearted, rising son. I’m brilliant, I’m noble, I’m carved from fire— too high to fall, too full of desire. ⸻ Bridge – (doppelstimmig: eine depressive, eine manische Stimme) Low voice: “I’m a failure. I’m hollow. I’m too much weight.” High voice: “I’m a miracle, burning, rewriting fate.” Low: “I’m unlovable, broken, sinking fast.” High: “I’m a friend, I’m loved, I’m built to last!” beide kollidieren, Musik explodiert: Two mirrors shatter in my mind— which one is real? Which one’s the lie? ⸻ Final Chorus – (der bittersüße Zusammensturz) I fly too high on neon wings, I crash too deep when the darkness sings. I’m the hero and the curse in my shaking chest— the rising phoenix and the failed contest. If I’m too much, or not enough— both truths cut deep, both edges rough. But somewhere in the chaos of my breath, I’m trying to love what’s left. ⸻ Outro – (leise, verletzlich): I stand between heaven and the floor, too bright, too broken— still wanting more.
