Heart of a Grave

[Verse] I keep the curtains closed until the morning leaves, counting every crack that lets the daylight in. There’s a room inside my chest I never let you see, full of names I couldn’t save and places I have been. I talk like I’m okay because it’s easier that way, wear the same old smile until it almost fits my face. But every night the silence digs a little deeper down, and every little heartbeat sounds like dirt against a grave. [Pre-Chorus] I know what it means to be alive and feel nothing. I know how it feels to keep breathing when you’re done. [Chorus] I’ve got the heart of a grave, cold in my chest but it won’t stay dead. Every beat is a name I tried to forget but I hear instead. If there’s still something left of me, let it hurt, let it burn, let it break. I’ve spent too long carrying the heart of a grave. [Verse] I learned to make a shelter out of shutting people out, turned every open hand into another thing to doubt. I built the walls so high I couldn’t see what waited there, then blamed the dark for every shadow I had put around myself. I fed the fear. I locked the door. I made a home inside the war. [Pre-Chorus] I know what it means to want the noise to stop coming. But somewhere underneath, something in me still runs. [Chorus] I’ve got the heart of a grave, cold in my chest but it won’t stay dead. Every beat is a name I tried to forget but I hear instead. If there’s still something left of me, let it hurt, let it burn, let it break. I’ve spent too long carrying the heart of a grave. [Bridge] Maybe I don’t need saving. Maybe I just need to stay long enough to hear the silence without giving it my name. Maybe all this weight I carry isn’t proof that I should sink. Maybe being barely breathing still means I can breathe. THEN BREATHE. [Breakdown] I dug the hole. I chose the stone. I wrote my name and called it home. NO. I am not the dirt. I am not the weight. I am not the voice telling me it’s too late. If this heart is a grave— THEN LET IT BREAK OPEN. [Final Chorus] I’ve got the heart of a grave, but there’s still blood under all this stone. Every beat is a name, and for once I don’t have to carry them alone. If there’s still something left of me, let it hurt, let it burn, let it change. I spent so long believing I was made for the grave. But I’m still here. [Outro] Still here. Still breathing. Still here.