THE SHAPE OF SURVIVAL Verse 1 I thought survival wore a golden crown, Came marching in with trumpets through the town. Instead it slipped in through a cracked-back door, Carrying groceries across a dirty floor. I thought it’d feel like justice, clean and bright, A saint descending in a flood of light. Instead it’s finding twenty dollars in a coat, And choosing not to sink a perfectly good boat. Pre-Chorus Nobody tells you the shape of survival. Nobody hands you a map. You spend years mistaking the wound for the weapon, Trying to love what loved you back. Chorus Nobody tells you the shape of survival. It doesn’t look like victory at all. It looks like stay. It looks like stay. It looks like getting up after the curtain call. Nobody tells you the shape of survival. It doesn’t look like victory at all. It looks like stay. It looks like stay. When every broken thing inside you wants to fall. Verse 2 I know girls who built cathedrals from their grief, Hung stained-glass halos on a thief. Turned every scar into a sacred sign, As if pain gets prettier with enough time. But suffering’s a salesman dressed in pearls. It whispers, “Come on, darling, be unforgettable.” Funny how the devil always sounds refined When he’s asking for another piece of your mind. Pre-Chorus Nobody tells you the shape of survival. How small it is at first. Just a pulse beneath the rubble saying, “Try again.” Before it becomes a universe. Chorus Nobody tells you the shape of survival. It doesn’t look like victory at all. It looks like stay. It looks like stay. It looks like getting up after the curtain call. Nobody tells you the shape of survival. It doesn’t look like victory at all. It looks like stay. It looks like stay. When every broken thing inside you wants to fall. Bridge Maybe the bravest thing I ever did Was disappoint the part of me That wanted a beautiful ending. The part that mistook destruction for depth. The part that called every open wound A personality trait. Maybe healing isn’t holy. Maybe it’s embarrassingly human. Maybe the miracle was never flying. Maybe the miracle was staying. Final Chorus Nobody tells you the shape of survival. It doesn’t look like victory at all. It looks like stay. It looks like stay. A heartbeat stubborn as a wildflower through concrete walls. Nobody tells you the shape of survival. It doesn’t look like victory at all. It looks like stay. It looks like stay. And somehow— that’s the bravest shape of all.
