The Grace to Hide

The sediment I crawled through still sticks to my spine, It's an archive of wreckage I cannot resign. I traded the shadow for the slow-motion glare Of a spotlight that burns through the truth that was there. They wanted me to crash for the narrative's sake; To witness the snap of a limb that could break. So I set every bridge alight and kept the flame in view, I need the fire's grim comfort more than I need you. Raise a glass to the nights when the fever was high, And I learned the sick value of what you won't buy. Now the gold is just armor, a beautiful weight, A tax paid on silence, a price sealed by fate. I won't be returning to the porch light's false call, If I fall, let them find me dressed in the heavy, yellow pall. Bury me where the map runs dry— In a flyover footnote where the failures lie. ’Cause the sound of your sobbing, I cannot abide; I'm granting my family the grace to hide. So leave me uncounted on the cracked, unnamed track, I'm paying the final toll so you don't have to come back. I’ve been cut, I’ve been counted, I’ve been cataloged, and lost, But can't nobody call me clean of the cost. I had people I loved trade their dignity for breath, And I learned how to carry that weight until death. They all want the story, the villain, the prize, But I'll smile for the reaper with the truth in my eyes. Tell my children my failure was to make their futures firm; Every misstep I made was to keep them from the worm. Let them take what they want off the plate, I just need them to thrive, Let the world say whatever; I was only trying to survive. I wasn't afraid of the fire, just the silence it leaves, So bury me out where no one believes, And let the earth forget the name. I won't be returning to the porch light's false call, If I fall, let them find me dressed in the heavy, yellow pall. Bury me where the map runs dry— In a flyover footnote where the failures lie. ’Cause the sound of your sobbing, I cannot abide; I'm granting my family the grace to hide. So leave me uncounted on the cracked, unnamed track, I'm paying the final toll so you don't have to come back. The chains weren't the gold, they were the anchors I wore. And the mud wasn't dirt, it was the debt at the door. I took the last trip and I burned up the chart, So you wouldn't know where to look for my broken heart. No name on the stone… No name on the stone… The erasure is the only inheritance you deserve. The grace to hide… The grace to hide… Uncounted… Uncounted…