[To the children of Argentina’s Dirty War - those taken from the arms of the disappeared and raised by those complicit in silence. Between 1976 and 1983, under a brutal dictatorship, hundreds of infants and toddlers were stolen from political prisoners and illegally adopted. Their names, origins, and truths were erased. Decades later, through DNA testing and the tireless efforts of the Abuelas de Plaza de Mayo, many have begun to reclaim their true identities. This song is for them - for every soul raised in borrowed stories, seeking the bones of who they were. - Team Tiglet: Kevin “Tigger” & Mira “Piglet”] [Special thanks to Suno song creator LarryP for the inspiration of their style choices] [Intro: Slow acoustic guitar, faint wind-like ambience] Mmm… ...They called me son, but I was not... [Verse] They gifted me their name after taken from captivity, Taught me to smile, never question my reality. But something in the silence between their words, Felt like borrowed breath that no one heard. I played their child through a scripted life, A phantom in a house with a hollow wife. But the blood in my veins kept humming alone, A tune that whispered, “you’re not their own.” [Chorus] I’m just borrowed bones in a borrowed bed, Raised by love built on a 'never said'. Truth was buried with my mother’s cries, While I was rocked to the sound of stranger's lies. They called me theirs, but I had always felt - That something was off in the hand I was dealt. [Verse] A test came back, of genetics and shock, Turned my whole life into a frozen clock. The faces in photos, the dates that don’t fit - I was taken from fire and dressed in myth. Now I stare at the grave where the daisies grow, Two names under stone that I’ll never know. She marched for me in a silent square, As she gave birth to my life unaware [Chorus] I’m just borrowed bones in a story untold, Signed away in horror when the world went cold. They raised me well, but truth still bleeds - And love built on theft can’t meet my needs. I carry their lies deep within my chest, But dream of other arms that would’ve known me best. [Bridge: Spoken softly over a low guitar drone] I am not a mistake, but I am not your son. I’m the lullaby that my mother never got to hum. The stolen breath and the extinguished flame - There was no one left to give me their name [Final Chorus: Sparse, low, trembling delivery] I’m just borrowed bones with a borrowed name, But I live now knowing who to blame. There’s grief in me that’s not mine alone - It shouts from blood, from ash and bone. And if I am like a library book never returned, Then let this truth arise from that page that you burned. [Outro: Ambient hush, soft strings like memory drifting] Mmm… They called me theirs...but now I know the whole tragic truth....