[Female Lead] [Intro] [Bit-crushed room tone, distant guitar] They keep telling me I’m processing it Like grief is a file And I’m just waiting For the little blue bar to finish Cute [Verse 1] I wake up tired from defending myself In conversations that never occurred Got apologies memorized backwards For people who never learned the words I can make a bad night productive Put the panic straight onto a schedule Nine-fifteen, lose my appetite Ten-thirty, call it being responsible That’s progress Apparently I’ve got coping mechanisms With excellent attendance Every one of them clocks in The second somebody gets too close I keep the exits alphabetical Keep affection conditional You call that guarded I call it Inventory control [Fractured Lift] [Percussion tightens, vocal doubles] Take the hurt Label it Stack it somewhere out of sight Take the guilt Sanitize it Make it look good under fluorescent light If it still hurts Work harder If it gets worse Work smarter Welcome to the factory We’re open Every night [Hook] [Raw melodic lift] I run a trauma factory Everything comes back changed Put love on the conveyor belt Watch it leave without a name Trauma factory Built the whole thing out of pain Every time I think I shut it down Somebody flips The breaker on again [Glitch Break] [Chopped vocal] Again Again Again [Verse 2] [Denser rhythmic delivery] I got really good at disappearing Without technically leaving the room Smile right Sit straight Say “I’m fine” Before anybody gives me room You ever get so good at surviving That nobody thinks to call it hurt? I have Turns out competence Is camouflage When you wear it long enough to work I keep breaking down efficiently No mess No witnesses No dramatic little scene Just one more night With both hands shaking While I answer texts Like nothing happened to me That’s the trick Make pain convenient People forgive almost anything If it doesn’t inconvenience them [Hook] [Heavier, strained] I run a trauma factory Everything comes back changed Put love on the conveyor belt Watch it leave without a name Trauma factory Built the whole thing out of pain Every time I think I shut it down Somebody flips The breaker on again [Collapse] [Beat fragments, distorted sub pulses] Maybe I built it Maybe they did Maybe that distinction Stopped mattering years ago Maybe healing isn’t demolition Maybe I just fire Half the staff [Short laugh] God Listen to me Turning damage Into management language Like that makes it smaller [New Section] [Sparse guitar, almost dry vocal] There’s a girl in the mirror Who knows exactly how to function I don’t trust her She can make anything look normal No sleep No appetite No reason to feel safe And somehow She still remembers Everybody’s birthday That scares me more Than falling apart ever did Because falling apart At least admits Something happened Functioning? Functioning can lie For years [Build] [Slow percussion return, rising distortion] So maybe I stop polishing it Stop making every wound Presentable Stop translating pain Into language That makes everybody comfortable Maybe I let it be ugly Maybe ugly Is finally honest [Final Hook Mutation] [Full arrangement, layered female vocals] I built a trauma factory But I don’t work there for free You can leave your damage at the door It doesn’t all belong to me Trauma factory Let the machines complain I’m not fixing every broken thing Just because I learned how to take the strain Trauma factory Lights out Let it rust If something survives the shutdown Maybe that’s The part of me I trust [Outro] [Decaying guitar, bit-crushed ambience] They keep telling me I’m processing it ... Maybe But for once I’m not clocking in tomorrow [Digital cutoff]
