[INTRO — instrumental, watery synth pads, rumbling 808] [HOOK — hypnotic chant, half-sung] Read receipts, read receipts (seen) Everybody looking, nobody speaks Read receipts, read receipts (seen) Ninety messages a week and we're still incomplete Read receipts [VERSE 1 — melodic half-sung sliding into clipped flow] Group chat called The Fellas, ninety messages by nine (uh) Memes about the game, nobody's doing fine Tony posts a sunset with a caption 'bout the grind Haven't seen the man in two years, but his life's so well designed Marcus sends a joke that's a scream dressed as a laugh I type you good bro — then delete the second half Which was actually I'm worried — too heavy for the thread So it floats around my kitchen like the things we never said Seen at eleven-forty-two, everybody read Nobody held the sentence, so it buried itself instead [HOOK — hypnotic chant, half-sung] Read receipts, read receipts (seen) Everybody looking, nobody speaks Read receipts, read receipts (seen) Ninety messages a week and we're still incomplete Read receipts [VERSE 2 — faster, clipped] Tony's business failing, you can read it through the posts Every win he shares is just the one he needs the most Marcus and his lady haven't tagged each other since June But the memes about relationships keep landing like a monsoon Me, I got the thing with my shoulder I won't name Typed it in the chat once, watched it drown in the game Highlights and hustle and the bottle-service shots We're a room full of men knocking on a door that locks From the inside — somebody just gotta say it plain Miss you idiots for real, can we meet and not pretend [BRIDGE — pads swell, voice raw] So I typed it — plain, no joke, no meme attached Seen at twelve-oh-one — I watched the seconds pass Then Tony: bro. Then Marcus: yeah, bro. Then a date, a diner, and a real table, y'all (read receipts) [HOOK — hypnotic chant, full] Read receipts, read receipts (seen) Everybody looking, nobody speaks Read receipts, read receipts (seen) Then somebody says it and the silence breaks [OUTRO — pads fade, voice distant] (seen... seen...) Saturday, nine o'clock Bring your whole self, not your posts
