[Verse 1] There was a crooked little mark beside the doorway, under white. Half a hook, half a scar, still catching the light. I stopped with my coat half on, one hand around the strap. The hallway held its breath like it had heard me coming back. I touched it with my finger. Dust gathered in the bend. Nothing opened in the wall, but something opened in my hand. [Pre-Chorus] I had seen this before. Not here. Not then. Same little wound in another skin. [Chorus] I know this place. I know this place. I never came here, but it knows my name. Under the paint, under my name, something remembered what I tried to change. No voice. No flame. No hand from above. Just a crooked little mark finding the blood. I know this place. I know this place. The light held still. The mark stayed awake. [Verse 2] On the mirror by the doorway was a bend I almost missed. Not a word, not quite a symbol, just a shape held in the glass. The stairwell number flickered, then leaned against the paint. Same small curve in the corner. Same grey pull underneath. The key kept turning wrong in a lock I knew too well. Not stuck. Not broken. Just refusing to tell. [Pre-Chorus 2] I had left it behind. I had closed that room. But some things wait quietly inside what you remove. [Chorus] I know this place. I know this place. I never came here, but it knows my name. Under the paint, under my name, something remembered what I tried to change. No voice. No flame. No hand from above. Just a crooked little mark finding the blood. I know this place. I know this place. The light held still. The mark stayed awake. [Bridge] The door stayed on its hinges. The warning never came. The stairwell bulb kept humming. No voice behind my name. It stayed almost nothing. A bend beside the frame. A loose thread on my sleeve that knew my hand again. The mark did not get larger. It did not ask to stay. It only changed the angle of everything I named. Still, when I touched the bend, it answered through my veins. [Final Chorus] I know this place. I know this place. I never came here, but it knows my name. Under the paint, under my name, something remembered what I tried to change. No voice. No flame. No hand from above. Just a crooked little mark finding the blood. I know this place. I know this place. Not louder. Not brighter. Just harder to look away. [Outro] By morning, nothing changed. The mark stayed small and grey. I left the bend untouched. It left the door inside me open.
