PAY INTEREST Verse 1 My mother learned the geography of every hospital in town, Could tell you which machines were singing just from the sound. My father started sleeping lighter, like bad news might knock and come in, The kind of tired that settles somewhere deeper than skin. I said, “I’m trying.” So many times the words went smooth as glass. Funny how a promise dies long before the person that made it lasts. Pre-Chorus I thought the wreckage ended where my body did. God, I was a stupid kid. Chorus I’m sorry isn’t heavy enough to carry what I dragged through the door. Every time I came home half-alive, you loved me a little more. And that’s the part that hurts the most— not what the poison did to me. It’s watching all the people I love pay interest on my misery. Verse 2 I wasn’t the only one getting buried. I just had the better view. Everybody talks about addiction, nobody talks about you. The friends who kept their phones on loud, the family counting every ring, The way a single text can turn into a holy thing. My mother started praying in the present tense. My father learned that anger and terror share a fence. And every promise I broke learned somebody’s name. Every one. Every single one the same. Pre-Chorus I kept mistaking guilt for getting clean. Like knowing better meant anything. Chorus I’m sorry isn’t heavy enough to carry what I dragged through the door. Every time I came home half-alive, you loved me a little more. And that’s the part that hurts the most— not what the poison did to me. It’s watching all the people I love pay interest on my misery. Bridge You can survive a fire and still smell smoke for years. That’s what nobody tells you. The ambulance leaves. The heartbeat steadies. The worst day ends. But my mother still checks her phone too fast. My father still pauses when I don’t answer. Love remembers what terror teaches it. I thought I was killing myself. I didn’t notice the collateral. Final Chorus I’m sorry isn’t heavy enough. It never was. It never will be. Not for the birthdays I disappeared from, the lies dressed up as recovery. Not for the shaking hands, the sleepless nights, the prayers whispered over me. And that’s the part that hurts the most— the wound I never meant to leave. I wasn’t the only one surviving. Everybody I loved was trying to survive me. I‘m sorry. I‘m so sorry. Outro The cruelest thing about being loved is realizing how many people you took to the edge with you.
