[Intro, hushed, drifting] Watch how the room loosens its grip when the picture tells you it is safe to float. [Verse 1] Thirty two and a half, the body gets optional, he steps out of himself like the floor is negotiable. Not a dream, it is framed like instruction, hover above the shell, practice the separation. They show it clean so the exit feels holy, no blood, no scream, just a glow that consoles me. Christians call it harmless, call it art, but the lesson is how to park the self and split from the heart. He conducts lights in the sky like notes on a staff, each spark a piece that will answer his hand when he laughs. Stars are not wishes, they are workers in line, each one tuned to a cue, each one waiting for time. Lightning cracks on command, storms learn obedience, fear becomes fuel when the child memorizes the sequence. Play it again, let the rhythm sink deep, so when the shock hits later the reflex is complete. Now fear is a lever, now pain has a role, the child learns to create by fracturing whole. They never say alter, they say orchestra, they never say split, they say harmony, order up. [Hook] Leave the body, keep the smile, float above it for a while. If the storm obeys your hand, then the fear will understand. Lights respond, the lesson sticks, learn to jump when memory clicks. [Verse 2] Thirty three and a half, the waves take the stage, oceans rise and fall like a breath taught in a cage. He conducts the water, then the spirits behind it, spheres within spheres, ancient names never cited. Those who see it know the language at play, old magic dressed new so the warning decays. Then he wakes back inside with the water at his throat, a panic designed to be branded, to note. Drowning teaches silence better than law, no talk messages bloom when the lungs learn awe. Do the thing, come back, then lock it away, feel the water again if you look the wrong way. The ax comes out without reason or flow, cuts the broom down the middle, teaches death as a show. It dies, then it doubles, then doubles again, a picture so loud it explains the intent. Kill the part, then demand it return multiplied, armies from trauma, obedience cloned side by side. They will say it is fine, you are tired, you can rest, let another you surface and handle the mess. But when one part looks back at the thing that was made, anger spins into a spiral they tell you to evade. Do not look, they insist, or the vortex will pull, so the child learns amnesia as survival, as rule. [Bridge, tightening, circular] Water in, water out, hands throw while the room spins about. Read the book while the floor caves in, hold to the words as the whirl pulls you in. [Verse 3] Thirty six and a half, the drain shows its teeth, a spiral that feeds on compressed belief. At the bottom they place a watcher, a guard, parts the flood like a prophet, calm and hard. Not rescue, not mercy, just passage controlled, learn who waits when the center goes cold. The lesson is simple, brutal, precise, every descent has a face and a price. By the time the hands shake and the breath comes thin, the mind knows the route and repeats it on cue, on a whim. [Hook] Leave the body, keep the smile, float above it for a while. If the storm obeys your hand, then the fear will understand. Lights respond, the lesson sticks, learn to jump when memory clicks. [Outro, quiet, suspended] They taught him how to leave before they taught him how to stay. Later, they will call it strength when he forgets the way back.
