[Verse 1 – quiet, trembling] I— I keep waking in the shape you left behind… Like skin stretched over someone else’s bones. Your touch still hums under my ribs, a ghost I didn’t ask to keep. And every time I breathe— it feels like you’re leaving again. And again. And again. ⸻ [Pre-Chorus – tightening, breathy] Say it. Say you felt the fracture when I broke. Or lie to me— lie to me the way you always spoke. ⸻ [Chorus – soaring, desperate] ’Cause I’m singing in a godless choir, my voice on fire, begging for a mercy you will never— never— send. And I fall into the wound you carved, a prayer that starved, calling out a name that refuses to bend. You don’t hear me. You don’t hear me. You don’t— you never did. ⸻ [Verse 2 – whispered, confessional] You left a hollow in me that aches like a cathedral with no altar… no heat… no light— just the echo of something sacred that died in your hands. I wear your silence like chains around my throat, and every word I try to speak turns to blood in my mouth. ⸻ [Pre-Chorus – strained, cracking] Tell me— did you taste the ruin in my voice? Or was I always just another quiet noise? ⸻ [Chorus – broken then explosive] I’m singing in a godless choir, my lungs on fire, begging for a touch you only ever pretended to give. And I drown in the echo you left— a holy theft— trying to convince myself there’s a reason to live. But you don’t hear me. You don’t hear me. You don’t— you never did. ⸻ [Bridge – slow, ritualistic, Vessel-like] Maybe this is faith: to offer up the burning parts of me to someone who never asked… to choke on the hope that you’d turn around… to worship the ghost that wears your mouth. I would’ve bled myself clean— if you’d only said the word. ⸻ [Final Chorus – catastrophic, emotional peak] So I sing in this godless choir, my heart on fire, calling out to a love that tore itself away. If devotion is a coffin, then nail me in— let the darkness begin— I’ve already learned how to decay. You don’t hear me. You don’t feel me. You don’t— you never did.
