Stone, not ash

[Intro — low, steady, restrained power (heartbeat + distant grind)] (low octave guitars, heartbeat percussion, faint sound of stone dragging) I was made in the hush before shouting. Forged in cracks where the easy gave way. Quiet does not mean hollow. Still does not mean gone. And weight? Weight teaches. [Verse 1 — rising tension, spine straight, not yet screaming] I wear the weight — no permission. Hands raw, spine bent, because I chose. They whispered of surrender like mercy. I spoke of silence like stone. "Break or blend," they warned me. "Fall, fade, forget." But I learned — Ash drifts. Stone endures. [Pre-Chorus — clenched jaw, slow venom] Bend me? You’ll tire first. Burn me? I’ll name you in the smoke. I don’t crack for flames. I carve through them. [Chorus — wide, teeth bared, brutal clarity] I am not your ghost. I am not your shame. I am not your fucking lesson. I am stone — not ash. Still here. Still heavy. Still mine. [Verse 2 — measured, scarred, still walking uphill] I broke my own shape to rebuild it. Chose sharp roads when soft ones begged. They mistake staying for yielding — But survival wears scars, not silence. I’ve stood when knees should fold, Spoke when throats should close. And never — not once — Begged to be smaller. [Bridge — venomous calm, cold fire] This body — earned. This name — carved deep. This rage — steady as stone. You will not unmake me. You will not erase what carries itself. [Final Chorus — triumphant, jaw unlocked, defiant even in weariness] I am not your ghost. I am not your guilt. I am not your soft ending. I am stone — not ash. Unburned. Unfolded. Unbroken. Still pushing. Still standing. Still mine.