Yeah… Barely a ghost in the glow of the screen, city on mute, and my thoughts in-between, streetlights drip like a bruise in the rain, I been carryin’ silence like a chain. Yo, they said that dying is dumb, ’cause life is still worth livin’ for, so I stand in the kitchen at 3 A.M., watch the kettle breathe like a tired little lord. I been talkin’ to shadows in a cracked-up room, hear my own name in the back of the gloom, everybody sellin’ dreams in a plastic disguise, but the real ones look down when you look in their eyes. Scrolling on my phone, can’t decide if I need them anti-depressants or a brand new guitar, same hands that tremble could still make art, same chest that’s heavy could still beat hard. Funny how the world want your pain on display, then act like concern when you drift away. Don’t treat life like a joke, find a rose, give it to a lonely girl, maybe take her out too, watch the whole cold city soften for a second, watch a small kind thing feel bigger than you. ’Cause everything rotten still got roots in the dirt, and even the broken can still be of worth. I seen a man laugh with a face full of rain, seen a kid draw wings on a bus stop pane, seen the moon hang low like a tired old eye, seen my own reflection and forgot I was mine. Too much noise, too much pose, too much fear in the feed, too many voices tellin’ me who I should be, but I’m all mud and melody, ash and grace, a crooked little sermon in a neon place. [soft rise] Walk through the fog with my head half-lit, every thought like a shard and I still don’t quit, every wound got a rhythm if you listen close, every bad little memory got a beautiful ghost. And I know this world can be ugly as sin, but the night still opens when the light gets thin. So I move like a question, speak like a bruise, wear my pain like art and my art like proof, that a heart can crack and still keep time, that a soul can sink and still climb. Yeah… So don’t laugh too loud when the room goes still, there’s a prayer in the gutter and a song in the spill, there’s a flower in the rubble, there’s a pulse in the wire, there’s a low little truth in the smoke and the fire. And I’m here, not healed, not gone, not clean, just a man with a storm and a busted-up dream, trying to love what’s left, trying not to feel numb, trying to remember life is still worth livin’ for…
