[Verse 1 — close-mic, restrained, slight vocal fry, minimal instrumentation] I got good at being whatever the room asked for read the air pressure before I hit the door call it range, call it skill, call it calibration call it twenty years of quiet reconfiguration [Pre-Chorus — subtle harmonic tension, low pulse enters] I can talk in half a dozen borrowed signatures and I can’t recall which voice is mine [Chorus — wider stereo, drums open slightly, still controlled] I’m very impressive at the party I’m very hard to pin I contain multitudes, darling— just ask the room I’m in I’ve stretched to fit the outline of every appetite I’m the most I’ve ever been and I’m so goddamn tired [Verse 2 — introduce light dissonant texture, glassy keys] the self had edges once, resistance you could measure now I reflect you back with professional precision I arrive already fluent in whatever you’re needing while the source code underneath keeps quietly bleeding [Bridge — instrumentation drops, almost spoken, dry] they’ll call it growth they’ll call it range, maturity they won’t call it this— a clean, continuous erosion a well-lit, high-performing loss of certainty [Outro — sparse, almost no rhythm, lingering notes] I used to have an anchor now I have a repertoire I used to know exactly where I was now I’m very good at knowing where you are
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