One Word (And I Was Back Again)

strattonel

FuFu (Rebeccas Halloway)

strattonel

acoustic ballad, melancholic

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[Verse I — bare acoustic guitar, distant piano; FuFu almost speaking rather than singing]

It wasn't even a bad morning.
That's the part that pisses me off.
Coffee tasted fine for once.
Sun came through the blinds just soft.

I had nowhere I had to be,
Nobody waiting on a cue.
Wore the shirt I slept in downstairs,
Spent an hour missing one damn boot.

Then somebody said a word.

Just one.

Not even trying to hurt me.

And seven years came through the walls
like they'd been waiting patiently.

The room was gone.
The morning too.

And every lock I'd ever known
clicked shut somewhere inside my head.

One word—

And I was back again.

[Verse II — low bass enters, restrained percussion; melody grows heavier]

Funny what the body remembers
when the rest of you says you're free.

A certain tone.
A certain phrase.
Somebody standing behind me.

Suddenly every door had cameras.
Every window felt like glass.
Every smile looked rehearsed again.
Every shadow wore my past.

Someone told me they're still looking.

I already fucking knew.

Of course they're looking.

You don't lose a thing that valuable
and shrug when it gets loose.

But knowing isn't hearing.

Hearing made it real.

And every mile between us
disappeared beneath my heels.

I looked down at these stupid boots
that carried me away from them—

But they didn't feel like freedom.

They just felt heavy again.

[Verse III — fuller acoustic arrangement, cello underneath; frustration without explosion]

I tried the little things.

Bought coffee.
Played my favorite song too loud.
Walked nowhere for an hour
just because I'm allowed.

Bought something stupid at a store
I absolutely didn't need.

Sat outside and watched some strangers
living lives that looked so easy.

Usually that works.

Usually ordinary feels
like something I have won.

Today it was just coffee.

Just music.

Just the sun.

And I hated that.

God, I hated
giving them another day.

Like somewhere Mojo marked a scoreboard:

FuFu: ZERO.
Me: ONE.

[quietly]

No.

Fuck that.

That's not what happened.

I didn't lose.

I just couldn't make it lighter.

Sometimes weight
is simply weight.

[Verse IV — steady drums finally arrive; not triumphant, but grounded and stubborn]

So I stopped trying to fix it.

Stopped demanding I be brave.

Didn't turn the hurt into a lesson.
Didn't make surviving look okay.

I closed the curtains.

Turned my phone off.

Left the flowers where they stood.

Didn't sing myself a freedom song
or tell myself life is good.

I let the cage be there today.

Let myself remember everyline of script.

Let the fear say, “They're still coming.”

Then answered—

“Yeah. They are.”

Maybe tomorrow I'll feel stronger.
Maybe I'll laugh about something dumb.

Maybe I'll hear those boots beneath me
and remember how far they've come.

But tonight they feel like iron chains.

Tonight freedom feels pretend.

Tonight one word was all it took
and I was back again.

[long instrumental pause]

But here's the only thing
I know tonight
that they can never change:

Last time I was trapped inside that cage...

I couldn't leave.

[quiet breath]

Tonight I can.

So I'm going upstairs.

I'm getting into bed.

And I'm letting this day end.

[guitar almost disappears]

That's all.

No revelation.

No big finish.

No pretending I'm okay.

One word
and I was back again.

But only...

for a day.

3346/7500

[Verse I — bare acoustic guitar, distant piano; FuFu almost speaking rather than singing] It wasn't even a bad morning. That's the part that pisses me off. Coffee tasted fine for once. Sun came through the blinds just soft. I had nowhere I had to be, Nobody waiting on a cue. Wore the shirt I slept in downstairs, Spent an hour missing one damn boot. Then somebody said a word. Just one. Not even trying to hurt me. And seven years came through the walls like they'd been waiting patiently. The room was gone. The morning too. And every lock I'd ever known clicked shut somewhere inside my head. One word— And I was back again. [Verse II — low bass enters, restrained percussion; melody grows heavier] Funny what the body remembers when the rest of you says you're free. A certain tone. A certain phrase. Somebody standing behind me. Suddenly every door had cameras. Every window felt like glass. Every smile looked rehearsed again. Every shadow wore my past. Someone told me they're still looking. I already fucking knew. Of course they're looking. You don't lose a thing that valuable and shrug when it gets loose. But knowing isn't hearing. Hearing made it real. And every mile between us disappeared beneath my heels. I looked down at these stupid boots that carried me away from them— But they didn't feel like freedom. They just felt heavy again. [Verse III — fuller acoustic arrangement, cello underneath; frustration without explosion] I tried the little things. Bought coffee. Played my favorite song too loud. Walked nowhere for an hour just because I'm allowed. Bought something stupid at a store I absolutely didn't need. Sat outside and watched some strangers living lives that looked so easy. Usually that works. Usually ordinary feels like something I have won. Today it was just coffee. Just music. Just the sun. And I hated that. God, I hated giving them another day. Like somewhere Mojo marked a scoreboard: FuFu: ZERO. Me: ONE. [quietly] No. Fuck that. That's not what happened. I didn't lose. I just couldn't make it lighter. Sometimes weight is simply weight. [Verse IV — steady drums finally arrive; not triumphant, but grounded and stubborn] So I stopped trying to fix it. Stopped demanding I be brave. Didn't turn the hurt into a lesson. Didn't make surviving look okay. I closed the curtains. Turned my phone off. Left the flowers where they stood. Didn't sing myself a freedom song or tell myself life is good. I let the cage be there today. Let myself remember everyline of script. Let the fear say, “They're still coming.” Then answered— “Yeah. They are.” Maybe tomorrow I'll feel stronger. Maybe I'll laugh about something dumb. Maybe I'll hear those boots beneath me and remember how far they've come. But tonight they feel like iron chains. Tonight freedom feels pretend. Tonight one word was all it took and I was back again. [long instrumental pause] But here's the only thing I know tonight that they can never change: Last time I was trapped inside that cage... I couldn't leave. [quiet breath] Tonight I can. So I'm going upstairs. I'm getting into bed. And I'm letting this day end. [guitar almost disappears] That's all. No revelation. No big finish. No pretending I'm okay. One word and I was back again. But only... for a day.

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