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Behind the Curtain 1 by veseh

SongGPT
Behind the Curtain 1 by veseh - indie,female vocals music cover art

Behind the Curtain 1

indie,female vocals

0:003:05
Lyrics
Description
Is it possible to be yourself, but only live behind someone else's eyelids?
Is it possible to have your eyes open to the world, but you can't move your hands?
Can't speak, answer, walk, show yourself?
Is it possible to just look... right there, behind a thin curtain, but thicker than a prison, thicker than bones...
This is what I'm experiencing every day.
I live in a body, but I'm not myself.
A body that I feel like I made, but now I'm imprisoned in its skin cells, veins, flesh, and bones.
A body that looks like me, but it's not.
No, it doesn't look like the one I should be.
Not its color, not its voice, not its behavior, not even its walk...
Every day, from the inside, I'm screaming.
But this body, it seems to have gone deaf.
It doesn't hear.
Or maybe he doesn't want to hear.
Somewhere in the middle, in the dark and cramped silence inside me, there is a small space.
A dark room.
Where I am.
I speak to you from there.
Like a silent basement, with only two windows up there that you call "eyes."
Sometimes I try to climb up those two windows, to see what's going on outside.
I climb the rotten stairs of my mind,
Until my hands reach the ledges of those windows.
Often I hear a sound.
Sounds coming from outside.
The speakers that seemed to be installed on the ceiling of my brain, and they sang non-stop,
shouting,
taunting...
Last night, for example, a voice shouted:
"Shame on you... aren't you a girl?!"
It was repeated many times.
With echo, with hurt, with anger.
I whispered to myself:
"Well... yes, my girl!"
But the voices didn't end.
I went up again.
Up the stairs again.
I pulled myself up with force, put my hands on the window.
On the other side of the glass, a beautiful girl stood.
Her eyes were sparkling.
A gentle smile was on the corner of her lips.
I wanted to say hello to her.
I tried very hard.
Somehow my lips were trembling.
But suddenly she burst into laughter and said:
"You're both girly and crazy!"
And her voice echoed in my head like smoke.
Why do they call me girl so easily on the other side of the window?
What does being a girl mean to them?
Can't they see that I'm suffocating inside?
Can't they hear that I'm burning in the silence of this wrong body?
Some days I think that the people on the other side of the window don't know anything else.
They only know how to say girl, boy, aunt, bisexual...
They only know how to divide, without even realizing how much pain our hearts are enduring.
Sometimes I ask myself:
If one day this body ends, what will be left of me?
If there is only one "name" to write on my tombstone, who is that name?
The person I was?
Or who the world thought I was?
I'm still here.
In this dark room.
Between two windows.
Between two worlds.
I'm breathing, I'm writing,
I'm pulling myself up...
Until one day maybe I can escape,
Or maybe...
the world will find out who I was.