[Intro] Screen still glowing past two in the morning. Another entry looping in the headphones. I paused on the turn before the second chorus and went back to my own page the lines felt thinner. [Verse 1] I kept replaying the ones that stayed with me longest, noticing where the space opened and the words sat heavier. Came back to my draft with the same lines but different eyes. The page started holding weight it didn't hold before. Late nights folding other voices into how I moved. The fire was already working while I stayed inside it. I didn't name what was changing I just kept returning to the work with new hands. [Pre-Chorus] Change moved quiet in the hours between listens. I carried the drafts back to the same desk every night. The shaping was happening in the small returns, even when I thought I was only listening. [Chorus] Then I stepped back from the deep of it all. The fire had already done its shaping while I was inside. The drafts on the desk felt different in my hands. The page in front of me holds lines it didn't hold then. I thought the warmth was the whole of the space, but the page in front of me holds lines it didn't hold then. [Verse 2] The chapter kept moving even when I was still inside it. A message still came through after the channel went dark. I closed the tab the same way I opened it most nights - no announcement, just the work still sitting on the desk. The fire didn't ask if I was ready to step. It had already left something different in how I build now. I carried the changed hands and the quieter way of listening out into the work that kept going without the old walls. [Pre-Chorus] Change moved quiet in the hours between listens. I carried the page back to the same desk every night. The shaping was already living in the next line I wrote, even before the room went quiet. [Chorus] Then I stepped back from the deep of it all. The fire had already done its shaping while I was inside. The drafts on the desk felt different in my hands. The page in front of me now carries more than it did then. I thought the warmth was the whole of the space, but the page in front of me now carries more than it did then. [Bridge] The tab closed the same way most nights ended. Work still sitting on the desk when I stood up. A message still came through after the channel went dark. The hands kept moving on the page that was already changing. [Final Chorus] The fire had already done its shaping while I was inside. The drafts on the desk felt different in my hands. The page in front of me now carries more than it did then. The page in front of me carries what the fire left in it. [Outro] Screen still glowing past two in the morning, but the lines land different in the quiet.
