[Verse 1] I learned the ground from underneath, the mineral taste between my teeth. You called it closure, called it done, packed down the earth and blocked the sun. But bodies know what minds forget— how to keep breathing under threat. I found a pulse beneath the hurt and followed it through mouthfuls of dirt. [Pre-Chorus] I didn’t rise up clean and bright. I clawed until I found the light. [Chorus] I came back with a mouth full of dirt, blood in my nails, proof that it hurt. No resurrection, no rebirth— just something stubborn under earth. You don’t survive and stay untouched. You lose some skin. You learn too much. So don’t call me healed because I’m upright— I just got very fucking good at the fight. [Verse 2] There’s still some soil behind my lungs, some buried language on my tongue. I flinch when kindness moves too fast, still measure futures by the past. And every room gets checked for doors, every peace gets checked for wars. That’s what happens when you’ve known how quickly living becomes a stone. [Pre-Chorus] I didn’t rise because I’m brave. I just refused to fit the grave. [Chorus] I came back with a mouth full of dirt, blood in my nails, proof that it hurt. No resurrection, no rebirth— just something stubborn under earth. You don’t survive and stay untouched. You lose some skin. You learn too much. So don’t call me healed because I’m upright— I just got very fucking good at the fight. [Bridge] Maybe that’s the ugliest truth: survival doesn’t hand back youth. It doesn’t clean what had to crawl. It only proves you moved at all. And I am tired of being praised for finding exits from the graves somebody else decided I was small enough to leave inside. [Final Chorus] I came back with a mouth full of dirt, blood in my nails, knowing my worth. No resurrection, no rebirth— I dragged myself across the earth. You don’t survive and stay untouched. I lost some skin. I learned too much. Don’t call it beautiful. Call it what it was: They buried me. I fucking dug.
