[Intro — solo piano with subtle harp arpeggios, soft high violin harmonics]
A morning that folded like a note you couldn't read,
The words came small and sudden — parents splitting at the seam.
I pressed my palms to the sink, the house smelled like coffee gone cold,
Two years stitched into the wallpaper, a story I've been told.
[Verse 1 — solo piano, low cello undercurrent]
They told me at breakfast, voices clipped like neat repair,
I nodded through the radio, kept the silence in my hair.
I scrub the shampoo out and count the tiles, breath fogs in a line,
Hold the glass to my mouth like a map, follow cracks in time.
Locker slams in the hall, a laugh I borrow, borrowed light,
I tuck the news into my pocket and fold my face to right.
[Pre-Chorus — harp arpeggios swell, strings enter]
Dad's words are sharp like weather, a storm you can't untie,
He's yelling at the kitchen wall, but he can't hear my cry.
Mom makes me the mailbox, a person to unburden every night,
I'm stuck between the storms and storms, I'm balancing the fight.
[Chorus — swell strings, light electronic pop percussion, fuller piano]
I cry in the shower, the tiles keep count of every drop,
At school I flash a timid grin, a practiced, plastered stop.
When they ask “what’s wrong?” I say, “I’m fine,” and let the small lie shine —
But in the steam I trace my name and whisper, I’m breaking, lost in time.
[Verse 2 — piano + subtle harp, cello moves closer]
Mom talks to me like I'm the atlas of all her quiet wars,
She shows me pictures of the ’used-to-be’ across the kitchen drawers.
Dad throws his voice like plates; they shatter in the hall at night,
He can't see the bruise I carry; I'm the shadow in his light.
I fold up birthday cards and keep the candles I won't blow,
I learn to be the audience when both their tempers show.
[Pre-Chorus — strings tighten, piano picks a sharper motif]
Everything rearranged, the map has new, unsaid lines,
I watch the corners of our home become where memory resigns.
I bite the inside of my cheek until the taste is something mine,
I keep a ledger of small hurts, I keep the ledger fine.
[Chorus — repeat with added vocal harmony, percussion more present]
I cry in the shower, the tiles keep count of every drop,
At school I flash a timid grin, a practiced, plastered stop.
When they ask “what’s wrong?” I say, “I’m fine,” and let the small lie shine —
But in the steam I trace my name and whisper, I’m breaking, lost in time.
[Bridge — intimate cello + sparse piano, voice close; production note: solo cello/voice moment]
I press my forehead to the tiled cold and speak to no one’s ear,
Steam wraps around the honest shape of things I never hear.
I think I'm a failure, I say it to the mirror and the drain —
The words sink like pennies, heavy in the puddles of my shame.
A soft line of cello answers back, a bowed, small thread of grace,
I hold the confession like a stone, then let it slide into place.
[Final Chorus — full classical strings, light synth pads, pop beat;
