[Intro – Soft, pulsing synth with distant echo of a ticking clock] (quiet, almost analytical) AYAKA: They say emotions get you killed. I believed them. Still do... Mostly. [Verse 1 – Measured, detached] I take no joy in saving lives. No thrill in stars or violet skies. I fight because I’m told I must— Because someone’s gotta clean the dust. I file the names. I track the dead. Keep feelings locked inside my head. I wear no crown, I wield no grace… But I always leave the battlefield Without a trace. [Pre-Chorus – Slightly cracked] But there’s a girl with dirt-stained knees— Begging me not to freeze. And I wonder… Which one of us still breathes? [Chorus – Soft swell, aching] These are the things I pretend to protect: The laugh I don’t remember. The hug I never let. The flowers I trampled under boots made of steel. The warmth I forgot how to feel. I act like it matters, like I know what’s correct... But these are just things I pretend to protect. [Verse 2 – Sharper, with rising guilt] They cry, “Ayaka, you’re so brave.” But I count every unmarked grave. And if I flinch, just once—just once, That little slip becomes a hunt. So I stay calm. I stand in line. I tell myself, “It’s all by design.” But my hands don’t shake because I’m brave… They shake because I don’t know What’s left to save. [Chorus – Stronger, but haunted] These are the things I pretend to protect: A world built on silence. A badge of neglect. A photo of friends who don’t look at me now, A future I swore, but forgot how. Each rule I uphold, each life I dissect… Are just fading things I pretend to protect. [Bridge – Sudden drop in music, voice exposed and raw] I used to love my cat. I used to hum a song. I used to... feel. For so, so long. But now I just— observe. Calculate. Deflect. Because what if there’s nothing left To protect? [Final Chorus – Quiet, resigned, with lingering strings] These are the things I pretend to protect: My name. My cause. My thin intellect. The mask I’ve glued so tight to my face… Even mirrors forget my trace. I still fight. I still bleed. I still stand. But don’t mistake it for respect. Because I don’t even know What I protect. Not anymore. [Outro – Instrumental fade-out, cold silence after the final word]
