[Verse 1] I read the words, I know the creed, “Observe your thoughts, ignore the need.” But when the storm comes crashing in, The waves don't care where I begin. A page can preach serenity, But blood runs deep in memory. And instinct’s carved in older stone, Than any wisdom I’ve been shown. [Chorus] So I stumble, I sway, I fall, Still I try to heed the call: Not to fight what I can't steer — But to ask: what’s mine to hold right here? Not a whip, but a compass I grip — This is grace, not scholarship. [Verse 2] I’ve been trained to please, to flee, to win, To carry blame like it’s my skin. But letting go still feels like loss, Even if it’s freedom underneath the cost. Seneca wrote from quiet ground, I surf a sea where peace’s not found. But still I try, with aching hands, To ride the wave, not chase the land. [Chorus] So I breathe, I break, I bend, And start again, around the end. Not to master every tide, But to stay awake and not to hide. Not a whip, but a compass I grip — A softer strength within my script. [Bridge] One time in ten, I get it right, The other nine, I still must fight. But every time I choose to see, That spark of calm belongs to me. [Final Chorus] So I stumble, I rise, I steer, I ask again what matters here. The world can rage, the winds can flip — But I will not trade heart for grip. Not a whip, but a compass I keep — Through every storm, through every deep. [Outro] Even falling is a kind of flight… When you fall toward what’s right.
