Verse 1 Saints don’t live here, baby, They don’t wake up shaking. They don’t flinch at footsteps, Or relive the mistakes they’re making. They don’t bleed through bandaged smiles, Or bargain just to sleep. If sainthood means pretending, Then I’m proud of what we keep. Pre-Chorus They draw their lines in black and white, But we survived in shades of night. Chorus Saints don’t live here in Hathian, But love still finds a way. We build altars out of staying When it’s easier to walk away. Saints don’t live here—truth be told, But monsters still get cold. Verse 2 Your hands are rough from fighting storms, Mine from holding on. If Heaven won’t claim broken things, Then Heaven got it wrong. I’ve seen you choose mercy When no one would’ve blamed you not to. If that ain’t holy, tell me— What the hell is virtue? Bridge If damnation’s just a word they use To scare us into line, Then let ‘em talk—we’re busy Making something divine. Final Chorus Saints don’t live here, we don’t pray, But we kneel when it feels right. In a city that forgot compassion, We still light the night.
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