Blooming Backstage

[Verse 1] Behind the velvet curtain where the candles learn to breathe, we were waiting in our costumes, half in shadow, half in dream. The old organ started singing with nobody at the keys, and every heart around me looked for what it had to mean. Was it wires? Was it weather? Was it someone in the wall? Was it angels in the rafters turning up the music hall? I stood there dressed in sorrow, black veil and ivory face, but something soft moved through me and made a kinder place. [Pre-Chorus] When the unknown makes a sound, everybody names the room. Some will call it warning, some will call it doom. But I have walked through haunted houses, I have learned what fear can do. The monster may be staged there, but the trembling can be true. [Chorus] So I bloom backstage, with the wires and the roses. I hear the old world playing through the floorboards as it opens. I do not need to own it, I do not need to run. I can bless the strange arrival and return to what must be done. Before fear names it, before the mirror breaks, I choose the softer answer for the shape the moment takes. I bloom backstage. I bloom backstage. [Verse 2] All the world’s a stage now, all the feeds are candlelight, every symbol wearing costumes, every shadow selling fright. The archive lifts its fingers, the algorithm hums, and something from the buried boards returns beneath the drums. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was code. Maybe it was memory finding its way home. Maybe it was commerce dressed up like a sign. Maybe it was just the field reflecting back my mind. [Pre-Chorus 2] But I am not here chasing omens. I am not here keeping score. I am here to clean the mirror and decide what enters through the door. If the room begins to tremble, if the curtain starts to move, I will not feed every phantom just because it wants a name to use. [Chorus] So I bloom backstage, with the wires and the roses. I hear the old world playing through the floorboards as it opens. I do not need to own it, I do not need to run. I can bless the strange arrival and return to what must be done. Before fear names it, before the mirror breaks, I choose the softer answer for the shape the moment takes. I bloom backstage. I bloom backstage. [Bridge] The dishes in the sink still shine like moons beneath the water. The laundry waits in quiet piles, the day becomes the altar. Chop wood, carry water. Pin the signal, let it go. Not every open doorway is a place I have to follow. I saw the wires. I heard the sound. I felt the field turn round and round. I held the fear. I changed the air. I left a bloom where panic stared. [Final Chorus] Now I bloom backstage, where the velvet meets the morning. Where the haunted house is breathing, but the garden keeps on forming. I do not need to prove it. I do not need applause. I am only here to witness what the hidden current draws. Before fear names it, before the old veil shakes, I choose the living garden for the shape the moment takes. I bloom backstage. I bloom backstage. With the organ and the roses, with the candles and the rain, with the angels in the rafters turning music into flame. I bloom backstage. I bloom backstage. Then I carry water and begin the day again. [Spoken outro] All that was — bleed-through. The angels were having a party. They turned the volume up too loud. So I listened. Then I returned to the work.