What Your Hands Forgot [Version 3]

[Intro] You pulled me higher than the morning breeze could go, said the world gets loud, but we’d walk slow. I held to that, on days that stayed, not all — just those that didn’t fade. [Verse 1] I sat on your shoulders thinking I owned the view, you laughed like trouble never stuck to you. Your coat held dirt and yesterday’s roads, and your words steadied me when the evening froze. “Stand firm,” you said, “let the fear come through.” You kept the ground solid, you kept me new. Your hands felt steady, your steps felt right — I thought you’d hold forever. Turns out, nothing holds that tight. [Hook] Some hands lift, some let fall, some love feels too thin, some too tall. I carry the marks you left inside, not knowing which ones built me, which ones lied. [Verse 2] Then the jokes thinned out like a song off-key, your mornings dragged harder than they used to be. You stopped pointing at places we swore to chase, and your smile hung crooked, lost in your face. Your boots scraped slow along the floor, and the house learned quiet more and more. You didn’t leave — you simply slipped, like old paint peeling where the wall once gripped. [Hook] Some hands lift, some let fall, some love feels too thin, some too tall. I carry the marks you left inside, not knowing which ones built me, which ones lied. [Verse 3] Then bottles learned to answer in your stead, and Sundays grew heavy, stained and spread. Your voice turned sharp with a dull, deep sway, and every warning felt rehearsed in its way. I counted breaths like someone counting breaks, kept close to corners for safety’s sake. You were crumbling well before you split, and I shaped my balance around every bit. [Verse 4] Each tremor you spoke became rules I kept, each slammed door something I sidestepped. I learned to move small, to tighten my frame, to pretend your storms were mine to tame. I’m the mark you pressed in the curve of the wall, a kid practicing mercy that can’t quite fall. Now I run through memories, crooked and fast, trying to break what the years held fast. No more shrinking. No more bend. No more letting your story decide my end. [Bridge] Some nights I wished you’d simply drift, some nights I prayed for some kind of lift. I hated you quiet, I loved you raw, a kid reaching through a broken law. You cut me in ways still hard to name, but even now, I carry your frame. You linger in rooms I don’t confess, some wounds talk low in their own distress. [Final Hook] Some hands lift, some let fall, some love feels too thin, some too tall. I carry the marks you left inside, not knowing which ones built me, which ones lied. [Outro] I grew in the space where your absence stayed, long before your footsteps fully strayed. And still, I search for something of you in the way the world walks through.