[Verse 1] I keep a city in my chest, brick by brick, regret by regret. Every window holds a silhouette, every room smells like cigarettes. I know the language of locked doors, cheap floors, late calls, cold wars. I learned love from a loaded mouth, then spent years trying to bleed it out. Side street. Night heat. Rain makes halos on dead concrete. Heart skips. Lip splits. Funny how memory never quits. [Pre-Chorus] I don’t need saving. I need the noise to stop. But silence has a pulse now, and it knows exactly where I’m soft. [Chorus] There is no relief. No clean sleep. No morning coming underneath. Just old ghosts, closed throats, names I still pronounce like oaths. I keep walking, keep talking, while something underneath me rots. No release. No reprieve. I survived. That’s not relief. [Verse 2] I’ve got photographs without faces, old mistakes in familiar places. Different women, similar endings, same damn wound with different dressing. I loved like debt. I paid in skin. Let the wrong ones out, let the right ghosts in. Bedside. Red eyes. Every goodbye gets revised. Half-truths. Bad news. Even my scars have déjà vu. I built a god from abandonment, gave it my throat, called it punishment. Now every prayer sounds counterfeit. Every “I’m okay” tastes like evidence. [Pre-Chorus] I don’t want closure. Closure is something people sell when they’ve never had to make a home inside the architecture of hell. [Chorus] There is no relief. No clean sleep. No morning coming underneath. Just old ghosts, closed throats, names I still pronounce like oaths. I keep walking, keep talking, while something underneath me rots. No release. No reprieve. I survived. That’s not relief. [Bridge] Good enough. Not enough. Same sentence, different blood. Stay with me. Wait for me. Everybody leaves eventually. Memory. Misery. They rhyme because they live in me. History. Injury. Same rhythm, different century. I keep hearing footsteps where nobody has been. Keep finding fingerprints on the inside of my skin. And every version of myself I buried out of sight still scratches at the coffin when I try to sleep at night. [Final Chorus] There is no relief. No soft grief. No mercy hiding underneath. Only wet streets, dead dreams, and every promise losing teeth. I keep moving, not improving, just getting harder to believe. No release. No reprieve. No white light waiting up for me. I survived. I survived. And that’s the cruelest part. There is no relief.
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