[Verse 1] I wear it well — the shirt, the walk, The smile you say you love. But you don’t see the part of me That shakes when push comes shove. I’ve stood in rooms I made myself, I’ve learned to play the part. But strip it down and all I’ve got Is clothes around a heart. [Chorus] So don’t turn the light on, Don’t ask where I’ve gone. I only feel like I exist When no one’s looking on. They say I’m easy on the eyes — But it don’t feel like mine. I’m only pretty When I get to hide. [Verse 2] I’ve made ‘em laugh, I’ve made ‘em stay, I’ve known just what to do. I’ve sharpened every gesture Till I cut myself in two. They touch the parts I let ‘em see, And call it something true — But no one’s ever touched the place That’s still black and blue. [Chorus] Don’t turn the light on, Don’t pull back the shade. This body’s built on make-believe And payments never made. I know the steps, I know the line, I know how not to cry — But don’t you ask me To stand in full light. [Bridge] You say I’m perfect in the dark — And I believe you do. ‘Cause seeing me in daylight Might break the spell for you. I move just right, I breathe just so, Where no one has to know — But I don’t sleep in skin I never chose. [Final Chorus] So don’t turn the light on, Just stay near instead. Some things fall to pieces When they’re fully read. You say I’m real — I say I’m gone, The minute I’m in sight. I’m only beauty When I’m out of light. [VERSE 3 — REWRITTEN] I enter like a warning — the voice precedes the skin. Even laughter folds itself to let the silence in. There’s a rhythm I’ve rehearsed that doesn’t make a sound. I wear it like a binding oath that keeps me surface-bound. I don’t recall the last time I stood and let it be — not tailored to your wanting, just breathing, just as me. [CHORUS 2 — REWRITTEN] Don’t try for the edges — they’ve softened with use. Don’t ask me to label what I learned to reduce. It fits in your whisper, it breaks in my head. It’s not called “freedom” if I’m not where it’s said. [BRIDGE — REWRITTEN] You like me best in shadow — and you’re not wrong to do it. No lie required when the lights omit the proof of it. You touch the known terrain — the gesture I permit. The rest? Still under glass. Still breathing. Still unlit. [REFRAIN 2 — REWRITTEN] So leave the switch alone. Don’t cross that line. I hold together if you stay outside the design. [VERSE 4 — REWRITTEN] It’s not a matter of hiding — just years of not showing. This thread was doubt to start with. It’s faded past knowing. It isn’t guilt, or fear, or even shame by name. It works at night. It even hums. But daylight shifts the frame. [VERSE 5 — REWRITTEN] There are rooms I’ve taught to glow in tones that blur the view — a warmth without direction, a door that lets none through. You call that grace — I call it heat I’ve trained to hold. I live in folds that vanish the moment they unfold. [VERSE 6 — REWRITTEN] Some spaces never question. Some voices never ask. They pass through me like weather — permission in a mask. I’ve carved a whole vocabulary from motion and delay. Now every word just gets in the way. [VERSE 7 — REWRITTEN] I’m not here for salvation. I’m not trying to be believed. I just want one room where I can set the ceiling free. And if I ever open — it won’t be with a sound. It’ll happen like a shadow that no one writes down. [VERSE 8 — REWRITTEN] I once imagined standing as something I could try — to stay without arrangement, to meet myself eye-to-eye. But even in the dreaming, my gaze begins to squint. Not wary. Not rejecting. Just scanning for the hint. [VERSE 9 — REWRITTEN] I’ve read my name in silence, felt my weight in tone. I’ve translated whole histories from things best left unknown. Not shattered, not assembled — just angled toward invention: a body that performs itself in every new direction. [VERSE 10 — REWRITTEN] I map a space by brightness. I choose escapes by pitch. I’ve learned to ghost my presence without breaking from the script. This isn’t called survival — it’s breathing, edged in stealth. It’s staying in the story without revealing self. [FINAL REFRAIN / OUTRO — REWRITTEN] So don’t turn the light on. Just sit near. Stay still. Some things only settle when the world forgets to fill. Don’t ask where I wandered. Don’t measure where I’ve been. I only show when I’m not seen — I’m beauty by consent. When the world looks away — no — toward. I’m beauty against intent.
