[Intro — distant night insects, faint wind at a window, one soft piano note, quiet unsteady breathing] [Verse 1] The hallway grows teeth after midnight. The ceiling lowers when the room goes still. Your heartbeat sounds like footsteps coming closer through the house. The mirror keeps a version of you that never quite looks away. Some pain does not cry. It moves into the walls. It learns the floorboards. It sleeps beneath the skin. [Verse 2] Some nights the dark sits at the foot of the bed like it has nowhere else to be. Sleep comes barefoot, carrying old faces. Locked doors. Painted mouths. Rooms with no windows. You vanish inside them and nobody notices. Even the light looks dangerous when it enters. How do you trust the sunrise when your own mind has taught the sun to burn? [Chorus] I won’t pull you from the dark. I’ll sit beside its edge. I won’t tell you the shadows are harmless. I won’t dress the wound in pretty words just to make it easier to look at. If tomorrow has claws, leave it outside. We’ll carry this minute. Then another. Until the weight lets go. [Verse 3] Some sorrow never screams. It scratches quietly from inside the ribs. It settles in the jaw, the shoulders, the hollow behind the eyes. It turns the body into a haunted house you cannot leave. And still— somewhere beneath all that noise there is a pulse. Small. Stubborn. Still yours. [Bridge — nearly whispered] Maybe hope is too bright tonight. Then we won’t call it hope. We’ll call it water. A curtain opened two inches. A hand resting nearby. A voice saying your name like the dark has not earned it. I won’t ask you to turn pain into wisdom. I won’t ask you to make beauty out of what hunted you. I’ll just stay. [Final Chorus] I won’t pull you from the dark. I’ll sit beside its edge. Close enough that if you reach for someone, you won’t reach into nothing. If tomorrow has claws, leave it outside. Carry one breath. Then another. One minute. Then another. You have not disappeared. Someone notices. Someone knows your name. And maybe the weight loosens so quietly you do not notice at first— until your hands open and there is nothing left inside them you were never meant to carry alone. [Outro] The hallway can keep its teeth. The shadows can wait. You don’t have to reach for the light. You don’t have to open the door. I won’t pull you from the dark. I’ll sit beside its edge. And I’ll carry your name until you can carry it again. Until the weight lets go.
