[Hook] Oh— I think I’m dead That would explain it I’m hovering slightly above where I left it Same room, same objects still arranged just so Everything’s here— except whatever I was ⸻ [Verse 1] Cut short, apparently mid-thought, mid-plan A life interrupted without much demand I always assumed there’d be time to revise Tighten the meaning clean up the lines I am not proud of it— not especially Nothing disgraceful just… incomplete, mostly A pattern of almosts a series of starts A draft of a person in unfinished parts ⸻ [Pre-Chorus] It doesn’t matter now no one’s keeping score— still, I can’t help but notice what’s in store ⸻ [Chorus] Dear god, bury me with my phone Let it go where I’m going Leave it closed All my tabs and everything I looked up Me and my secrets— dust to dust Dear god, don’t let them scroll Not out of shame— just… it’s too close Not a hidden life just the uncut stuff Scatter me with my digital dust ⸻ [Verse 2] It’s lighting up now like it’s still in use Notifications arriving to no one in particular There’s a search that begins with “why am I like—” And trails off into something I won’t dignify Drafts that imply I was almost clear Notes that suggest I was nearly there Photos I kept for reasons unknown A soft accumulation of being alone ⸻ [Bridge] Not a confession not a disguise Just evidence of a life mid-revise ⸻ [Outro] And if someone looks— not deep, just enough— They won’t find answers Just the structure of wanting them still… open
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