[Intro]
In a lamplit room she sits, a small shadow on the wall,
Angel Starlight, six years old, hears the hallway call.
Bunny Max tucked to her chin, button eyes against her cheek,
Piano breathes a slow hush — the house grows soft and meek.
[Verse 1]
When the overhead dims low and the stair-step creaks,
At six years old she goes stone — can't move, can't speak.
Her breath a tiny drum, a heartbeat caught and tight,
Little fingers curl around the plush to hold the night.
The doorknob gives a whisper; the curtains sigh and fall,
She freezes in the doorway of a shadowed, silent hall.
[Pre-Chorus]
Light from the hallway thins into a trembling line,
The world folds into hush and the clock's teeth grind.
She clutches Max, his fur against her cheek so slow,
Silence swells like ocean and the tears begin to flow.
[Chorus]
Fear of the darkness, tiny hands hold tight,
Shadows make her still until the morning light.
Tears fall like droplets on the windowpane,
Mama shushes, "Angel, sleep," and hums away the pain.
She shushes Max and hums her home,
A soft low lullaby that makes the wild things go.
[Verse 2]
Strangers press the doorway with voices sharp as glass,
Angel’s shy eyes water, the bravest edges pass.
A careless word, a passing stare, and the ache comes back anew,
She folds into herself, hiding from the room’s cold hue.
A nightlight blooms a coin of gold at the bedside’s rim,
But when the hallway yawns too wide, her little body dims.
[Pre-Chorus 2]
There’s the creak of the stair, a hush of cotton socks,
The kettle breathes, a radiator hums in tight, small shocks.
Then footsteps slow, familiar — the shape she knows by sound,
Mama’s silhouette fills the doorway, gentlest love around.
[Chorus]
Fear of the darkness, tiny hands hold tight,
Shadows make her still until the morning light.
Tears fall like droplets on the windowpane,
Mama shushes, "Angel, sleep," and hums away the pain.
She shushes Max and hums her home,
Counts her breaths and tucks the corners of the cold.
[Humming Break]
(Humming — piano breathes, electric guitar threads a silver line)
A hum that steadies like a metronome at sea,
Little whisper through the hush: "Max," a moth against the sleeve.
[Bridge]
Mama kneels, fingers warm as summer rain on winter skin,
She flicks a nightlight on, the dark folds thin.
She brushes hair back slow, hums a tune she used to know,
She shushes Max and hums her home — “You’re safe,” she tells her so.
Palms press shoulders, slow as tide returning to the shore,
Her voice knits all the ragged edges — fear becomes less sore.
[Chorus - Variation]
Fear of the darkness, tiny hands hold tight,
Shadows shrink to paper puppets in the lamp's gold light.
Tears are tiny rivers the moon remembers by name,
Mama whispers, "Angel, sleep," and softens every blame.
She shushes Max and hums her home,
Wraps her in a hush that sounds like rain on chrome.
[Outro]
Slow piano, humming, and electric guitar’s thin line,
Angel's eyelids fold like pages, closing on the night.
Though shadows wait like questions and the ol
