[Intro | Hammer on Guitar Strings [Verse 1] First plate came when I was young, right across the chest. Learned to smile before they asked, learned to say, “I’m blessed.” Second plate around my ribs, third one down my spine. Every time somebody got through, I forged another line. By twenty-five I looked like war, steel from neck to knee. Everybody called me strong. Nobody could see me. [Chorus] Armor hides the wounds. That’s what armor’s for. Cover what they did to you, then walk back through the door. Hammer every heartbreak flat, wear it like a crown. But the more armor that I carried, the harder I went down. Armor hides the wounds. It doesn’t make them small. Sometimes the strongest-looking man is carrying them all. [Verse 2] I got good at taking hits before they ever came. Built a shield for every touch, a helmet for my name. Love knocked once. I checked the locks. Trust came by. I killed the light. Peace stood barefoot on the porch. I told her, “Not tonight.” Folks said, “Man, you’re bulletproof.” I laughed and raised my glass. They saw the shine. They never saw what all that iron masked. [Chorus] Armor hides the wounds. That’s what armor’s for. Cover what they did to you, then walk back through the door. Hammer every heartbreak flat, wear it like a crown. But the more armor that I carried, the harder I went down. Armor hides the wounds. It doesn’t make them small. Sometimes the strongest-looking man is carrying them all. [Breakdown | Harmonium, One Hammer Strike] Then one night I heard somebody crying inside the suit. Took me a minute. It was me. [Verse 3] Tried to lift my arms to pray. Couldn’t get them high. Tried to hold somebody close. Steel got there before I. Tried to sleep without the weight. Couldn’t breathe beneath. Every piece that saved my life had started burying me. That’s when I understood the trick: The armor wasn’t bad. Every plate had done its job when I was hurt that bad. But protection has an expiration nobody stamps in steel. Something built to guard a wound can keep it from being healed. [Bridge | Beat Enters, Dense Internal Rhyme] So count the plates, count the weight, count the years I made a barricade, pain became a blacksmith, fear became the hand that made it. Strike, fold, cool, repeat, turn grief into geometry, make a fortress out of memory, then call the fortress “me.” That’s the lie. Not that armor makes you weak. Armor kept you breathing when you couldn’t even speak. But if every scar gets steel, every bruise becomes a gate, you can survive the whole damn war and still become its shape. And maybe all that armor ain’t a measure of your might. Maybe it’s a map of every place you had to learn to fight. So I won’t shame the metal. I won’t curse the man I was. I’ll thank every plate for saving me— then ask if I still need it on. [Final Chorus] Armor hides the wounds. That’s what armor’s for. But I don’t need to wear the war to prove I won before. Set one shoulder piece beside me. Let one gauntlet hit the ground. If I shake without the metal, let me learn that shaking now. Armor hid the wounds. It carried me this far. Now I’m learning skin can heal without forgetting scars. And if you see somebody shining under forty pounds of steel— don’t ask how strong the armor is. Ask what it had to seal. [Outro | Armor Buckles Opening] Clang. One piece down. Then another. No rush. I’m not becoming weaker. I’m becoming reachable.
