("Hey, look! I found a feeling!") [Verse 1] I was seven. Shirt inside out. Shoelaces everywhere. Big fuckin’ day. Saw this guy on the curb, like sadness was leaking outta him. Didn’t panic. Didn’t ask. Just went— “Hey. You can come in. We’ve got cereal.” [Pause for a beat] He looked like a cupboard left empty too long; I had cornflakes, clumsy faith, a spoon. No doctrine, no map— just kid-heart, shaky hands. Need met chance, and chance met trust; one small offering against the rust. Not elegant, not even smart— just one loud beat from a seven-year heart: Maybe this will help. [Chorus] I don’t have cereal anymore. Just bleeding hands and open doors. Still yelling, “Come in, it’s fine! I’ve got weird poems and discount wine.” Love’s not neat. It never was. It howls. It spills. It breaks. It does. But it was mine, and it was true— and I still give it all to you. [Verse 2] I’m thirty-five now. Mostly clothed. Usually. Still offering weird shit like— “Hey, here’s a poem. It’s about guilt and peanut butter. It hurts." Everyone's got their armor. I wear face. I wear mess. Like a badge. Like a dare. Like— “Go ahead. Try to unsee me.” I still shout down empty streets just in case someone’s listening and starving for the same dumb hope. [Pre-Chorus 2] They lock their doors. They play it cool. But I was built to break that rule. [Chorus 2 – Clean, Rhymed, Rhythmic] No cereal left—but I’ve got fire. Half a prayer and barbed wire. Still yelling, “Come in, don’t wait— there’s toast and trauma on the plate.” Love’s not soft. It kicks and sways. It’s blood and glitter in the haze. But it’s still real, and it’s still mine. And I’ll keep offering every time. [Bridge] I made art with engine oil, smeared grass stains on bare wood, screamed “Fuck your rules!”— color’s color, understood? Tasted muriatic acid, just to know how sour it gets. Yelled “Dose makes the poison!” Haven’t unknown that yet. Stuck my finger in a socket just to meet the light. Shouted loud at feral hogs— "What, you want a fight?" I showed my stupid, startled scream when a toad appeared from air. It was a bag of dirt! That’s not supposed to be in there! I howled my soul into the void— and it rang. And it’s still fucking ringing. [Bridge Collapse Beat] I didn’t come to impress. I came to give. [Final Chorus] Don’t follow me if you want quiet. Don’t come in if you need clean lines. But if you want raw, and weird, and sacred ache— then this is your church. These are your signs. I’m still that boy. Still holding the door. I’ll feed you with faith and whatever’s left on the floor. [Chorus] I don’t have cereal anymore. Just bleeding hands and open doors. Still yelling, “Come in, it’s fine! I’ve got weird poems and discount wine. I don’t have cereal anymore. Just bleeding hands and open doors. Still yelling, “Come in, it’s fine! I’ve got weird poems and discount wine.” Stuck my finger in a socket just to meet the light. Shouted loud at feral hogs— "What, you want a fight?" I showed my stupid, startled scream when a toad appeared from air. It was a bag of dirt! That’s not supposed to be in there! I howled my soul into the void— and it rang. And it’s still fucking ringing. [Bridge Collapse Beat] I didn’t come to impress. I came to give. [Final Chorus] Don’t follow me if you want quiet. Don’t come in if you need clean lines. But if you want raw, and weird, and sacred ache— then this is your church. These are your signs. I’m still that boy. Still holding the door. I’ll feed you with faith and whatever’s left on the floor. [Chorus] I don’t have cereal anymore. Just holy mess and open wars. Still yelling, “Come in! I’m weird! There’s wine, and crumbs, and something clear.” I don't have sense in me anymore. Just bleeding palms and half a chore. Still yelling, “Come in! It’s fine— I’ve got weird poems and just this one final line."
