[Spoken Word — Deadpan] The blood is the ink. The body is the page. The music… is redemption. [Verse 1 — Intimate close‑mic preacher cadence.] I don’t need a steeple to tell me where to look I don’t need a preacher or a gold‑leafed book My sanctuary is built on wood and wire And the ringing of the strings is my kind of choir There’s a quiet in the room when the lights go down Before the first chord breaks the silence of the town [Pre‑Chorus —Dead‑pan.] So I bow my head and I tap my feet Find my communion in the driving beat And let the amplifiers lift me off the ground… [Chorus — Authoritative. Spoken over the beat.] Yeah, music is a sacred scripture, its own religion A holy kind of noise in a world of division It’s a temple that you carry right inside your chest Where the broken find some healing and the weary find some rest Yeah, I found my salvation in the rhythm and the rhyme A hallelujah echoing across the edge of time [Verse 2 — Brooding preacher cadence.] Drop the needle in the groove, let the sermon begin The crackle of the vinyl washes out the sin Some people fold their hands on a cold, hard floor I just close my eyes and let the speakers roar The bass is a heartbeat, pulsing from above Singing gospels about life, loss and love [Pre‑Chorus — Ritual cadence.] So I bow my head and I tap my feet Find my communion in the driving beat And let the amplifiers lift me off the ground… [Chorus — Authoritative. Spoken.] Yeah, music is a sacred scripture, its own religion A holy kind of noise in a world of division It’s a temple that you carry right inside your chest Where the broken find some healing and the weary find some rest Yeah, I found my salvation in the rhythm and the rhyme A hallelujah echoing across the edge of time [Bridge — Haunting whisper‑warning.] It speaks in a language that the heart understands Holding us together with invisible hands No gates to keep, no hell to fear Just the sacred little moments happening right here You don’t have to be perfect, you don’t have to be pure When the melody hits you, it’s the only cure [Chorus — Final declaration.] Yeah, music is a sacred scripture, its own religion A holy kind of noise in a world of division It’s a temple that you carry right inside your chest Where the broken find some healing and the weary find some rest Yeah, I found my salvation in the rhythm and the rhyme A hallelujah echoing across the edge of time [Outro — Final sermon.] Amen to the drum. To the strings. To the peace the Amen sings. This is my scripture. My confession. My rapture. My resurrection. [End]
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