The Women in Me (Emily & Jane)

+ Show full styles

Verse 1
I went looking for Jane in the bones of Bath,
In stone that remembers every path.
Rooms full of manners, doors full of rules,
Where hearts are broken politely in twos.

She taught me the theater. The mask. The play.
How women survive by what they don’t say.
How love can starve in a beautiful room,
And still be called safety. Still be called home.

⸻

Verse 2
And you, Emily, waited in an upstairs breath,
Engaged your whole life to God and death.
White like a vow that no one heard,
Building forever out of broken words.

You taught me the language of locked doors,
The long, faithful marriage to inner wars.
How to live small and carry the sea.
How to disappear and still be free.

⸻

Chorus
Two women. Two kinds of flame.
Two ways to lose and still remain.
One taught me the world. One taught me the soul.
Both taught me the cost of being whole.

⸻

Verse 3
Jane, you knew the ballroom was a cage.
Emily, you knew the body was a stage.
One wrote in glances. One wrote in graves.
Both wrote for women who learned how to behave.

They didn’t call you saints. They didn’t call you queens.
They called you quiet. They called you unseen.
I know that story. I know that name.
I’ve lived inside that kind of flame.

⸻

Bridge
I made my homes out of silence too.
I learned to host what I outgrew.
I learned to leave without leaving a mark.
I learned to love in rooms without dark.

I learned from you how to make a life
Out of almost-love and beautiful strife.
How to make art out of what I can’t keep.
How to sing from the edge of sleep.

⸻

Verse 4
Emily, you died before they knew your face.
Jane, you died knowing your proper place.
Both of you gone before the crown.
Both of you buried before you were found.

I carry your ghosts like wedding rings.
I keep your books like broken things.
When I write, you are in my hands.
When I ache, you understand.

⸻

Final Chorus
Two women. Two kinds of prayer.
One for the room. One for the air.
One for the rules. One for the void.
Both for the girl who learned to avoid.

Both for the woman I’m trying to be —
Not quiet. Not small. But finally free.

⸻

Outro
Jane is in my voice when I play the part.
Emily is in my blood when I fall apart.
Between the mask and the open grave,
You taught me the only life I could save.

2304/7500

The Women in Me (Emily & Jane) Verse 1 I went looking for Jane in the bones of Bath, In stone that remembers every path. Rooms full of manners, doors full of rules, Where hearts are broken politely in twos. She taught me the theater. The mask. The play. How women survive by what they don’t say. How love can starve in a beautiful room, And still be called safety. Still be called home. ⸻ Verse 2 And you, Emily, waited in an upstairs breath, Engaged your whole life to God and death. White like a vow that no one heard, Building forever out of broken words. You taught me the language of locked doors, The long, faithful marriage to inner wars. How to live small and carry the sea. How to disappear and still be free. ⸻ Chorus Two women. Two kinds of flame. Two ways to lose and still remain. One taught me the world. One taught me the soul. Both taught me the cost of being whole. ⸻ Verse 3 Jane, you knew the ballroom was a cage. Emily, you knew the body was a stage. One wrote in glances. One wrote in graves. Both wrote for women who learned how to behave. They didn’t call you saints. They didn’t call you queens. They called you quiet. They called you unseen. I know that story. I know that name. I’ve lived inside that kind of flame. ⸻ Bridge I made my homes out of silence too. I learned to host what I outgrew. I learned to leave without leaving a mark. I learned to love in rooms without dark. I learned from you how to make a life Out of almost-love and beautiful strife. How to make art out of what I can’t keep. How to sing from the edge of sleep. ⸻ Verse 4 Emily, you died before they knew your face. Jane, you died knowing your proper place. Both of you gone before the crown. Both of you buried before you were found. I carry your ghosts like wedding rings. I keep your books like broken things. When I write, you are in my hands. When I ache, you understand. ⸻ Final Chorus Two women. Two kinds of prayer. One for the room. One for the air. One for the rules. One for the void. Both for the girl who learned to avoid. Both for the woman I’m trying to be — Not quiet. Not small. But finally free. ⸻ Outro Jane is in my voice when I play the part. Emily is in my blood when I fall apart. Between the mask and the open grave, You taught me the only life I could save.

0/500