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Gift by AI Composer

SongGPT
Gift by AI Composer - Alternative Rock Pop music cover art

Gift

Alternative Rock Pop

0:004:14
Lyrics
Description
Bright clean guitars, a laugh like sunlight, Ribbons whisper on a summer night.
She found a box wrapped in paper white, Salt on the ribbon where fingers tied.
A Polaroid slip between tissue layers, A smile and face corners bent as shared dare.
She tipped it like a secret, small and slow, A little hush, the kind of trust that glows.
Trembling thumbs unlace the bow, A folded note, the ink begins to go.
Smudge words to names they used to shine, An edge of glass where promises resign.
Box of smoke, box of smoke, We thought it was a miracle, now it′s a joke.
Box of smoke, box of smoke, Light goes down and the edges choke.
She pulls a print with the thumbprint cracked, A group chat screen shot with her name struck back.
Whispers on a voicemail, laughter in a clip, A hand that waved and let the thread slip.
There′s a snap photograph with a face cut out, A private map spilled on a public route.
Heart starts a drum, the clean guitars distort, The pretense folds into a darker sort.
She reads the note, sorry, scrolled and crossed, Ink promises running, black trust lost.
Box of smoke, box of smoke, Quiet now, one breath, the room is broke.
Box of smoke, box of smoke, A single chord and the silence spoke.
She stands on the balcony, the city small below, Flashbacks of midnight calls, the coffee and the
snow. Fingers on the edge, a knock in the hall, A name she almost said false like a small stone.
A memory, a voice that knew when she couldn′t sleep, A voice she might call back when the dark
gets deep. No bright clean answers, only shallow light, A pause, a swallowed breath, a faltering
mic. She folds the note again and holds it near, Hearing her own pulse like someone else′s fear.
Box of smoke, box of smoke, Friendship burned into a hollow smoke.
Box of smoke, box of smoke, Black where the photograph used to glow.
Box of smoke, box of smoke, Promises ash every outlying bow.
Box of smoke, she tastes the salt of the ribbon and it chokes.
The phone lights up, an unsent name, a ring. She doesn′t answer right away, but the world keeps
spinning. A neighbor′s footsteps, a familiar laugh in the stair. The smoke thins where the air
still cares. Not a salvation, only a small strange hand. A line to hold, not gone, not planned.
The box stays closed on a kitchen floor, Black smoke drifting, but not anymore.
She tucks the photograph in a drawer, not gone, And learns how to gather mornings from what′s wrong.
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