[intro – low feedback, loose drum hits, bass crawling in] Not yet. Not yet. Not yet. [verse 1 – weary half-spoken vocal, quiet fuzz guitar] Lying in bed with a war in my skull, heart beats hard through a padded hull. Arms go dead and my chest talks back, like a loaded room with the windows cracked. Pressure climbed like a storm in a vein, little red numbers putting bricks in my brain. Doctor smiled like I brought her a ghost, then the blood screamed louder than I could boast. [pre-chorus – drums tighten, guitars start to swell] Phone rang crooked. Her voice went thin. “You need to go now. You need to go in.” White lights humming. Doors swing wide. A rare little curse with nowhere to hide. [chorus – full distorted explosion, cracked screaming vocal] They drained me dry just to keep me alive. Five days straight, watching red leave the line. Every pint they stole made the mirror unclear. I don’t know this body, but I’m still here. I’m still here. I’m still here. Half a man in the glass, but I’m still here. [post-chorus – feedback stab, sudden drop] Not yet. [verse 2 – quiet again, detached and bitter] Heat hits wrong and my skin turns mean, sunlight crawling like a bad machine. Can’t wear the weather, can’t shed the clothes, fatigue like a chain with its teeth in my bones. Anemia came with a thief’s soft hand, stole my fire and called it a plan. I count my breaths like unpaid debts, count my regrets in a hospital bed. [pre-chorus – more anxious, stop-start drums] My wife is sleeping. I watch the dark. Will I be warm when the morning starts? The room holds court. The ceiling sneers. My brain bangs the gavel and feeds on fear. [chorus – louder, more ragged] They drained me dry just to buy me time. Now I’m fighting back with sweat and spine. Meds in my mouth like a chemical choir. They bend my head, but they don’t kill the fire. I’m still here. I’m still here. Tied to the storm, but I’m still here. [verse 3 – bass-forward, numb delivery] Every morning starts with bottles in rows, little white soldiers with nowhere to go. Side effects laugh with their hands in my head, stealing the sleep from the edge of my bed. I ate clean, ran miles, tried bargaining nice, but fear don’t care if you pay full price. It sits in the corner in a secondhand crown, says, “You’re just sick enough to let everyone down.” [pre-chorus – guitars scraping, vocal fraying] And I hate this body. And I need it too. A broken motel that I’m passing through. But breath by breath, with the lights gone weird, I spit at the dark and I stay right here. [chorus – explosive, catchy but bleak] They drained me dry just to keep me alive. Five days straight, watching red leave the line. Every pint they stole made the mirror unclear. I don’t know this body, but I’m still here. I’m still here. I’m still here. Blood full of ghosts, but I’m still here. [bridge – drums drop out, close vocal, dirty clean guitar] Will I wake tomorrow? That question chews. Same old fear in my same old shoes. But I lace them up. I walk anyway. I won’t be a ghost to the ones who stayed. I won’t let the silence inherit my name. I won’t call surrender a reasonable thing. [build – toms return, feedback rising] I bleed. I burn. I break. I bend. I fall. I crawl. I start again. Each breath is ugly. Each day is strange. But I’m still dragging spark through the rain. [final chorus – biggest, desperate, cracked screams] They drained me dry, but I found a new flame in the ache, in the sweat, in the pulse of my name. I’m not cured. I’m carved. I’m not clean. I’m scarred. I don’t know this body, but I live in here. I don’t trust tomorrow, but I’m still here. I’m still here. I’m still here. Tell the fake little judge I’m still here. I’m still here. I’m still here. Blood full of thunder, mouth full of fear. Not yet. Not yet. Tell the dark to wait. Not yet. Not yet. Not yet. I’m still here. Not yet. [outro – collapsing drums, feedback decay] Just me and the echo. Just me and the fear. Just me and the blood noise. [final line – nearly whispered] Not yet.
