[VERSE 1] I pour the water. Watch it bleed. Temper the chaos inside me. This isn’t peace—it’s held-back fire, A quiet dressed in razor wire. [PRE-CHORUS] Don’t mistake my calm for grace. It’s a blade I keep in place. I don’t shatter. I contain. And I bleed without a stain. [CHORUS] This is my teacut—clean, not kind. A ritual to cage my mind. You call me soft—I call it steel. You don’t know what I conceal. This is control, not safety’s gift. I stir the storm and never drift. You say I’m quiet—but I reign. There’s power in my restraint. [BRIDGE] You want my truth? It’s porcelain. Hard to crack, Deadlier in hand. [OUTRO – low, measured delivery over slow piano and bowed strings] I don’t raise my voice— I raise the room around it. I don’t beg for peace— I brew it. Steeped in stillness, Cut with care, I burn in ritual, And call it air.
