(verse 1) my mother loved the bottle more than my bedtime. bars held her longer than her arms ever did. prison swallowed most of my childhood— and still… i clung to the echo of her laugh like it was home. she came back in fragments— sometimes soft, sometimes someone else. i learned early not to trust her blue eyes— they never stayed the same. and still… i loved her. (chorus) they carved their names into my bones— but i grew something of my own. i grew my own… i grew my own… in the dark, i came undone— i found a pulse they couldn’t numb. they couldn’t numb… they couldn’t numb… (verse 2) my father stayed. his fists stayed too. he taught me how to flinch before i learned to run. anger was his second language— i became fluent in silence. he fed me, clothed me, even when his love was something i had to dodge. and still… i loved him. my skin bruised before my heart knew why. they gave me life in pieces, in pain, in the pauses between chaos. (chorus) they carved their names into my bones— but i grew something of my own. i grew my own… i grew my own… in the dark, i came undone— i found a pulse they couldn’t numb. they couldn’t numb… they couldn’t numb… (outro) and still… i’m here.
