Story: The School With No Graduation
Verse 1
They handed me a body
with its weather and its will,
its old electric sorrow,
its hunger to be still.
They handed me a morning
already half begun,
a floor of moving sunlight,
a heart that outran reason.
Pre-Chorus
And all my little maps
kept pointing out of here,
as if the door to living
was somewhere not yet near.
Chorus
But there is no better than here,
no cleaner sky arriving,
no polished future self
where all the loose ends tie in.
There is only this strange classroom
of breath and bruise and light,
where every lesson enters quietly
wearing the clothes of life.
Verse 2
I called some moments failure,
I called some moments grace,
I called some people mirrors
when they only showed my face.
I thought if I could name it
I’d finally make it mine,
but names kept turning weather
into bars around the mind.
Pre-Chorus
And every “should have been”
was just another prayer
to some imagined kingdom
that was never really there.
Chorus
But there is no better than here,
no farther shore to earn,
the flame is in the burning,
the lesson in return.
There is only this brief schooling
of wound and wonderment,
where even getting lost enough
can feel like sacrament.
Bridge
No graduation.
No applause.
No perfect answer in the chest.
Just the same old moon
on different water,
and a little more room
around the rest.
A body.
A day.
A sorrow passing through.
A hand reaching for the kettle
before thought says what to do.
Final Chorus
So there is no better than here,
though “there” keeps calling sweetly,
and all my shining fantasies
still try to overtake me.
But life keeps happening local,
close as pulse and door and rain,
and every time I stop resisting
it arrives as love again.
Outro
No better.
No later.
No hidden holy sphere.
Just this wild unfinished lesson:
no better than here.
