[Verse 1] You showed up late but still took the stage. I was scraping skin, you were shaping takes. You called it help— but you just needed to be heard. You passed me a mic and stood on my hurt. [Pre-Chorus] You said, “You get what you manifest.” You called my grief a growth test. But this isn’t your pulpit This is my grave. [Chorus] So pull up a chair, the spotlight’s warm. Say your line, wear your crown. But don’t pretend it’s holy— it’s just noise now. All I hear is the sound… of a council of clowns. [Verse 2] You quoted a virus. You quoted fate. You stitched my scars with your wordplay. You smiled for the feed but never stayed. You captioned my pain like it made you brave. [Pre-Chorus] You said, “Everything happens for a reason.” You said, “Maybe this is your season.” But the only thing growing is your platform. [Chorus] So pull up a chair, light up the thread. Preach your truth, stack your brand. But don’t confuse your spotlight for compassion. This isn’t sacred ground— just a council of clowns. [Bridge – Slow, Spoken, Seething] You don’t know the wager. You didn’t hear the heavens speak. You weren’t in the whirlwind— but you think you’re the mouth of God. You don’t comfort. You control. You don’t feel. You perform. And somehow, you still call it love. [Breakdown – Musical Swell] Turn the cameras off. Turn the mic down. Take the masks off— I see you now. You came for answers, but you couldn’t bleed. You came for fame, but I needed a priest. [Final Chorus – Explosive] So keep your crowns, your shallow depth. Keep your quotes and scripted breath. You built your platform on my breakdown. You never loved me— just the sound. And all you’ll ever be is a council of clowns. [Outro – Whispered/Raw] A council of clowns. And I’m done being your stage.
