[VERSE 1 — SPOKEN] I used to trim myself down for people, headline only, no footnotes, soft edges, quiet questions, smiling like it didn’t cost anything to play the easy version. I left whole scenes out so no one had to feel guilty about the parts they played. I laughed over the moments where the floor gave way so you could keep believing nothing cracked. You called that “chill”, called me “so understanding”, like that was praise, like it wasn’t just me refusing to start a war I knew you wouldn’t survive. [PRE-CHORUS — SMALL LIFT] Every sentence I swallowed to make you feel safe came out somewhere else twice as sharp. [CHORUS] If you want me now, you don’t get the safe version, no soft edit, no low-res cut. You get the whole frame, light and damage together, or you don’t get me at all. If my weight feels like pressure when you stand too close, that’s not me being “too much”, that’s just the size of what I carry when you’re not here. [VERSE 2 — SPOKEN] I listen more to the second after your answer than to the answer itself: who laughs too hard, who scans the room, who suddenly needs to check their phone right when the truth gets named. I don’t forget who stayed present when things turned ugly, who kept looking me in the eye once the story stopped flattering them, who only calls when they need a witness that won’t contradict them. My trust is a narrow doorway; most people meet the frame first. I don’t test you with traps, I just stand at full height and see who edges toward the exit. If honesty makes you dizzy, you can sit down. If my history feels like “too much baggage”, call it what it is: weight you never trained to lift. [PRE-CHORUS 2] I’m done sanding down my corners so you can walk through me without noticing the shape. [CHORUS] If you want me now, you don’t get the safe version, not the part that smiles and erases itself. You get the long view, every scar in context, or you don’t get me at all. If my depth feels like effort every time you show up, that’s not me demanding extra, that’s the minimum it takes to stand here. [BRIDGE — NEARLY A CAPPELLA] I don’t stay angry, I redraw the map and move your name further out from the centre. I don’t punish mistakes, I watch patterns: who learns once and shifts, who says “sorry” like a spell and never moves an inch. You can’t ask for real and then complain it’s heavy. You can’t ask who I am and flinch when the answer doesn’t match the script you wrote. [FINAL CHORUS — CONTROLLED INTENSITY] If you want me now, you don’t get the safe version, no watered-down, no “easy to love.” You get the full resolution, every signal, every silence, or you don’t get me at all. If my presence feels like truth pressing on your ribs, that’s not me attacking you, that’s your reflection finally turning up the gain. [OUTRO — SPOKEN] I’m not here to be ideal, I’m here as I am. If that feels like too much, believe me— you were never built for the real thing anyway.
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