[Verse 1] I mistook altitude for truth. The light felt clean inside my mouth. I said it was awakening. It was just distance from the ground. The structure thinned beneath my feet. The name I wore began to leak. What I called arrival was a fracture in the seat. [Pre-Chorus] High tide lifts. Ebb withdraws. Neither answers what it was. [Chorus] It isn’t the height. It isn’t the fall. It’s what remains when I’m not central at all. No heroics. No cure. Just holding the line in proportion. [Verse 2] Some pain breaks the body. Some pain deepens the soul. Some pain is the cost of a self losing control. Inflation crowns the ordinary. Collapse declares it void. Both are forms of claiming what cannot be deployed. [Pre-Chorus] Call it spirit. Call it break. Either way the axis shakes. [Chorus] It isn’t the blaze. It isn’t the bruise. It’s staying aware of what not to confuse. No spectacle. No throne. Just keeping the frame when I’m alone. [Bridge] (drums enter quietly, tension rises) I’ve built the lifeboats. I’ve checked the shore. I’ve closed the exits and counted four. But this fire has no flame to see. It burns through identity. Can I sit when nothing proves which level speaks or who it moves? [Final Chorus] (dynamic swell, then drop) It isn’t ascent. It isn’t defeat. It’s standing unsure on unsteady feet. No mastery. No claim. Just proportion without a name. [Outro] (instrumental fade) High tide. Ebb. Ground instead.
