[intro][soft, fingerpicked guitar] [soft, fingerpicked guitar] (Verse 1) Momma made coffee in a broken-down kitchen said life ain’t fair but it's got good rhythm. Daddy took off with the Sunday rain, left a note that read: “Don’t wait in vain.” [Chorus – floating melody, light] We all got roots, and we all got routes. Some lead home, some just burn us out. [a little darker] (Verse 2) The preacher had hands like leather-bound pages, spoke in tongues but choked on wages. And I found God in a welfare line, behind a mother who said, “This child ain’t mine.” (Chorus) [repeated with slight tension in delivery] We all got roots, and we all got doubts. Some stay quiet, some scream it out. --- [Bridge – speaking in tongues-like spoken word, bitter and urgent] Red tape, birthdates, last names erased— systems chew you slow, leave you displaced. Plastic chairs, steel eyes, broken pride— your father’s in jail, your mother lied. They mark your route in chalk and ash— and call it peace when the windows crash. --- [softer again, emotionally resigned] (Verse 3) My brothers sleeps in bright light, dreamin’ in numbers, walking in blight. been' said, "Roots are just ropes they wrap ‘round your chest— routes are escape if you fail the test." --- [quiet, fading, unresolved] (Final Chorus) We all got roots… we all got routes… some bloom bright, some might not. [fade out]
