This Lament II : 2 Lament 2 Furious

folk-soul, experimental folk, baritone vocal-led, intimate acoustic

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V5.5

[Intro]
[Verse 1]
It was three in the morning again,
sitting in a chair I never meant to keep.
I had been carrying something for so long
I forgot it wasn’t part of me.
It lives behind my sternum,
just beneath the place where words begin.
Every time I try to name it,
it moves one room deeper in.
I’m not afraid of the dark.
I’m afraid of being still enough to see
that the thing I keep outrunning
has my face.
It looks like me.
[Pre-Chorus]
Because if I stop,
I have to feel it.
And if I feel it,
I might fall.
And I have been so good at standing,
I don’t know who I am
when I’m not standing at all.
[Chorus]
Oh, this sorrow knows my name.
It has known it longer than I have.
Pain keeps my name inside its mouth,
and some nights it’s the only one who calls.
Every grief I tried to bury
rose back up the way the truth does,
and the choir in my chest
has been singing since before I learned the song.
Sorrow knows my name.
And maybe that’s enough
to finally let it in.
[Verse 2]
I built a whole theology
out of moving on and getting through.
I made a discipline of forgetting,
called it healing, called it new.
But the body keeps receipts
the mind can’t bear to read.
What I swallowed in my twenties
is still lodged somewhere in me.
Every choice I never made,
every road I walked away from at the door,
every word I held until it hardened,
they are all still here.
Still asking what they asked before.
[Pre-Chorus]
And here is what the dark taught me
when I finally stopped to ask:
sorrow doesn’t want to hurt you.
Sorrow is the part of you
that loved.
[Chorus]
Oh, this sorrow knows my name.
It has known it longer than I have.
Pain keeps my name inside its mouth,
and some nights it’s the only one who calls.
Every grief I tried to bury
rose back up the way the truth does,
and the choir in my chest
has been singing since before I learned the song.
Sorrow knows my name.
And maybe that’s enough
to finally let it in.
[Bridge]
I need to say this quietly
because I have never said it once out loud:
I have been more afraid of healing
than I ever was of hurting.
Because pain at least was something
I knew how to be.
And grief is not a verdict.
Grief is love
that outlived
the place it used to live.
So here.
I’m setting it down here.
Not because it doesn’t matter.
Because it mattered more
than I ever let myself say.
And I am not done.
I am not done.
I am just done
carrying it
alone.
[Final Chorus]
Oh, this sorrow knows my name.
It has known it longer than I have.
Pain keeps my name inside its mouth,
and tonight I finally say it back.
Every grief I tried to bury
rose back up to show me what it was:
just love with nowhere left to go,
finding its way back to the surface.
Sorrow knows my name.
And now I know it too.
And now I know it too.
[Outro]
I am not the weight I carried.
I am the one
who carried it.

2827/7500

[Intro] [Verse 1] It was three in the morning again, sitting in a chair I never meant to keep. I had been carrying something for so long I forgot it wasn’t part of me. It lives behind my sternum, just beneath the place where words begin. Every time I try to name it, it moves one room deeper in. I’m not afraid of the dark. I’m afraid of being still enough to see that the thing I keep outrunning has my face. It looks like me. [Pre-Chorus] Because if I stop, I have to feel it. And if I feel it, I might fall. And I have been so good at standing, I don’t know who I am when I’m not standing at all. [Chorus] Oh, this sorrow knows my name. It has known it longer than I have. Pain keeps my name inside its mouth, and some nights it’s the only one who calls. Every grief I tried to bury rose back up the way the truth does, and the choir in my chest has been singing since before I learned the song. Sorrow knows my name. And maybe that’s enough to finally let it in. [Verse 2] I built a whole theology out of moving on and getting through. I made a discipline of forgetting, called it healing, called it new. But the body keeps receipts the mind can’t bear to read. What I swallowed in my twenties is still lodged somewhere in me. Every choice I never made, every road I walked away from at the door, every word I held until it hardened, they are all still here. Still asking what they asked before. [Pre-Chorus] And here is what the dark taught me when I finally stopped to ask: sorrow doesn’t want to hurt you. Sorrow is the part of you that loved. [Chorus] Oh, this sorrow knows my name. It has known it longer than I have. Pain keeps my name inside its mouth, and some nights it’s the only one who calls. Every grief I tried to bury rose back up the way the truth does, and the choir in my chest has been singing since before I learned the song. Sorrow knows my name. And maybe that’s enough to finally let it in. [Bridge] I need to say this quietly because I have never said it once out loud: I have been more afraid of healing than I ever was of hurting. Because pain at least was something I knew how to be. And grief is not a verdict. Grief is love that outlived the place it used to live. So here. I’m setting it down here. Not because it doesn’t matter. Because it mattered more than I ever let myself say. And I am not done. I am not done. I am just done carrying it alone. [Final Chorus] Oh, this sorrow knows my name. It has known it longer than I have. Pain keeps my name inside its mouth, and tonight I finally say it back. Every grief I tried to bury rose back up to show me what it was: just love with nowhere left to go, finding its way back to the surface. Sorrow knows my name. And now I know it too. And now I know it too. [Outro] I am not the weight I carried. I am the one who carried it.

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