They taught the room to lean one way — to call it calm, to call it right. But every chair held its own small weight, and every mouth kept a match in sight. We learned the cost of a yes too fast, the bruise beneath a polished line. We kept our names behind our teeth and let the quiet do the crime. We learned the cost of a yes too fast. The bruise beneath a polished line. We are the ones who won't bend low! We are the ones who won't let go! Under the floorboards, fire grows — we are the ones who won't bend low! Hands on the table. Eyes on the door. Paper-thin rules. A borrowed war. I watched the brave get split in two — a smile fixed tight, a lie held true. The pulse under every pause kept tapping out what could not die — a private code in a public cage, a small bright ache that would not lie. We learned the cost of a yes too fast. The bruise beneath a polished line. We are the ones who won't bend low! We are the ones who won't let go! Under the floorboards, fire grows — we are the ones who won't bend low! Small acts of defiance — cut the thread at night. Small acts of defiance — keep the light in sight. We were never made to kneel and disappear. Small acts of defiance — they draw us near. We learned the cost of a yes too fast. The bruise beneath a polished line. We are the ones who won't bend low! We are the ones who won't let go! Under the floorboards, fire grows! We are the dissenters — the truth still knows! Nour writes from the attic. Shimo — the story does not end.
