(Verse 1 - Spoken Word)I’m clocking sixty hours a week at the restaurant.Hands calloused, back aching, just trying to outrun my own shadow.I go to the grocery store, and I see the neighbors look away.They whisper behind their hands, locking their eyes on my past,like a brand burned right into my forehead."There goes the liability. There goes the wreckage."They don't see the clean drug screens.They don't see the five AM prayers on the cold kitchen floor.They just see the headline from 40 years ago.And honestly? I don't even blame them.I built that prison with my own two hands.(Chorus - Sung with raw, gritty, dark country power)But I am tearing down the gallows!I am digging out the rot!Building up a life on the ground where I fell,Fighting for the things that the needle forgot.Yeah, the stigma is a shadow that’s heavy and long,And the road back to grace is a bitter, broken song.But I’m trading the shame for the dirt on my jeans,Rebuilding a man out of shattered pieces and broken dreams.(Verse 2 - Spoken Word)(The music drops low, just a pulsing bass line and a stark acoustic strum.)My daughter didn't look me in the eye for the first six months.Can’t say I blamed her. I was a stranger who stole her bedtime stories.Now, I sit on the edge of her bed, reading about fairy tales,Knowing I was the monster in her real life for way too long.Her mama watches from the doorway. Arms crossed.The love is still there, but it’s buried under miles of scar tissue.Every single day is an interview for a job I already had and threw away.I don't ask for forgiveness anymore. That’s too cheap.I just show up. Every day.Even when the cravings scream, even when the judgment burns.I just stay.(Chorus - Sung with raw, gritty, dark country power)Because I am tearing down the gallows!I am digging out the rot!Building up a life on the ground where I fell,Fighting for the things that the needle forgot.Yeah, the stigma is a shadow that’s heavy and long,And the road back to grace is a bitter, broken song.But I’m trading the shame for the dirt on my jeans,Rebuilding a man out of shattered pieces and broken dreams.(Bridge - Spoken Word changing into a intense, rhythmic delivery)(The music builds. A distorted electric guitar starts to swell, dark and swampy.)Let 'em talk. Let 'em whisper at the diner.Let 'em doubt the concrete I'm pouring into this new foundation.I am resignation personified. I accept what I did.I carry the weight of the wreckage, but I refuse to let it bury me again.I am not the poison anymore.I am the cure. I am the work. I am the father.(Guitar Solo - Heavy, mournful, dark country blues slide guitar)(Chorus - Sung with absolute, desperate strength)Yeah, I am tearing down the gallows!I am digging out the rot!Look at me now on the ground where I fell,Holding onto the mercy that I finally caught.The stigma is a shadow, but the sun's gonna rise,I can see the reflection of a sober man in my family's eyes.Yeah, I’m trading the shame for the dirt on my jeans...Look at me rebuild.(Outro - Spoken Word)(The music fades out entirely. Just a single, resonant acoustic note ringing out and dying down.)One brick.One hour.One day.Let them see the addict.My family... they’re gonna see a man.
