[VERSE 1] I keep a museum of almost-me’s, mouths full of rehearsed apologies. Every exhibit has my face, every plaque says, “HE KNEW HIS PLACE.” Cute. I learned to fold myself so small I could fit inside your version. Called the shrinking “getting better.” Called the nausea “being certain.” But tonight I’m auditing the inventory. And half of me has no receipt. [PRE-CHORUS] So count what’s counterfeit. One. Two. Too many. Keep the original. Bury the copies. [CHORUS] THIS IS THE PURGE. Not forgiveness. Not revenge. I’m evicting every stranger I’ve been practicing as myself. THIS IS THE PURGE. Let the beautiful fraud disappear. If you only loved me manageable— YOU NEVER HAD ME HERE. Ohhh— Let the old names lose their meaning. Ohhh— WATCH ME BECOME INCONVENIENT. [VERSE 2] I’ve been fluent in surrender, perfect posture, pleasant tone. Made an art form out of leaving while technically staying home. Shake the hand. Nod politely. Swallow every second thought. You can make a person vanish without killing them at all. That’s the trick, isn’t it? No crime scene. No alarm. Just somebody slowly editing themselves to keep everybody calm. Well— I’M DONE BEING EASY TO DIGEST. [PRE-CHORUS] Take attendance. Who showed up? Who was invited? Who was assigned? Everybody wearing my face— GET IN LINE. [CHORUS] THIS IS THE PURGE. Not forgiveness. Not revenge. I’m evicting every stranger I’ve been practicing as myself. THIS IS THE PURGE. Let the beautiful fraud disappear. If you only loved me manageable— YOU NEVER HAD ME HERE. Ohhh— Let the old names lose their meaning. Ohhh— WATCH ME BECOME INCONVENIENT. [BRIDGE — HAUNTING / MELODIC] There’s a chair at the table for every person I’ve pretended to be. I know their habits. I know their voices. They all know how to impersonate me. So I set one place. Sit down. Look around. Nobody came. … Perfect. [BREAKDOWN] NO MORE GOOD IMPRESSION. NO MORE SMALLER VERSION. NO MORE MAKING MYSELF PALATABLE FOR YOUR CONSUMPTION. SPIT. ME. OUT. You wanted something harmless? WRONG FUCKING MOUTH. [FINAL CHORUS] THIS IS THE PURGE. No ceremony. No goodbye. Let the counterfeit go missing. DON’T EVEN ASK ME WHY. THIS IS THE PURGE. And the strangest thing is this: I thought losing who you wanted would leave nothing to exist. But listen— there’s somebody still breathing. No instructions. No permission. No performance left to give. I THINK THAT’S ME. [OUTRO — WHISPERED] Don’t recognize me? … Good.
