**Pré-Mature** Verse 1 Halfway ripe, the fruit still sweet, Shadows stretch where daylight meets. Edges sharp, but colors glow, Something born before it knows. Chorus Pré-mature, the spark before the flame, Dancing on the fault line, calling out a name. Not too soon, not yet too late, Living in the in-between is fate. Verse 2 Cracks in marble, art revealed, Songs unfinished still can heal. Breath of storm before the rain, Falling forward feels the same. Chorus Pré-mature, the spark before the flame, Dancing on the fault line, calling out a name. Not too soon, not yet too late, Living in the in-between is fate. Bridge Every stumble makes a rhyme, Every accident in time. What we are is never pure, Always, always pré-mature. Final Chorus Pré-mature, the spark before the flame, Laughing at perfection, bending all the frames. Not too soon, not yet too late, Living in the in-between is fate.
