# The Chrysalis Is Not a Coffin [Verse 1] They saw me hanging by a thread And thought my final day had come, But no one sees the blueprints When the old world comes undone. I surrendered every shape That had carried me this far, Turned my history to liquid, Rearranged every scar. [Pre-Chorus] Don’t mourn the shell I’m leaving. Don’t mistake the dark for doom. There are wings under construction In the silence of this room. [Chorus] The chrysalis is not a coffin. Don’t confuse becoming with the end. I had to lose the skin I lived in To discover what I’d always been. What looks like death from the outside Is a revolution deep within. The chrysalis is not a coffin— It’s where the butterfly begins. [Verse 2] Caterpillars cannot bargain With the gravity of wings. You can’t crawl into tomorrow Holding tightly to old things. Transformation isn’t gentle. There’s no painless way to grow. First you become unrecognizable, Then become what only you could know. [Pre-Chorus] Let them say that you are broken. Let them bury you in doubt. They’re only staring at the doorway— They don’t know what’s coming out. [Chorus] The chrysalis is not a coffin. Don’t confuse becoming with the end. I had to lose the skin I lived in To discover what I’d always been. What looks like death from the outside Is a revolution deep within. The chrysalis is not a coffin— It’s where the butterfly begins. [Bridge — Music turns dreamlike] Does the butterfly remember Every road the crawler crossed? Does it carry every footstep? Does it grieve for what was lost? Maybe freedom isn’t leaving. Maybe nothing disappears. Maybe every mile of crawling Built the wings that brought us here. [Breakdown — Nearly whispered] I wasn’t dying. I was changing. I wasn’t buried. I was waiting. I wasn’t finished. I was becoming. [Final Chorus — Explodes] The chrysalis is not a coffin! It’s the workshop of the soul. Where the pieces fall to nothing And return completely whole. So when darkness closes around me, I won’t call it failure anymore. I’ll remember every butterfly Had to dissolve before it soared. The chrysalis is not a coffin. It’s not where the story ends. It’s where something born to crawl Learns how to rise— And flies again. [Outro — Echoing] I wasn’t dying… I was changing. I wasn’t buried… I was becoming.
