Verse 1
I woke up cranky in a borrowed face,
the smile didn’t come on cue.
Some old rule said, “Straighten up now,
the world expects its version of you.”
But all I found was weather shifting,
one mood gone and one come through,
and the one who thought she knew herself
was thinner than she knew.
Pre-Chorus
One minute laughter,
one minute mud,
one minute balloon-string
floating in blood.
Chorus
So maybe this is not confusion,
maybe it’s questions without a throne.
Maybe what I called unraveling
is just no center holding on.
And maybe all this warm dark mystery,
this chocolate, this mud, this open sky,
was home before I had a language
to ask it who or where or why.
Verse 2
I looked into the mirror briefly,
and the old story tried to start:
who is that, and why don’t I like it,
and what is wrong inside the heart?
But under that was only contraction,
a little ache, a thought, a frame,
and the room was full before the language
arrived and gave it shape and name.
Pre-Chorus
Nothing solid,
nothing fixed,
just this strange ride
that won’t sit still.
Chorus
So maybe this is not confusion,
maybe it’s questions without a throne.
Maybe what I called dissolving
is just no self to call my own.
And maybe all this warm dark mystery,
this nowhere-everywhere surprise,
was waiting underneath the terror
of that first unbordered sky.
Bridge
I touched it once when I was younger,
the nothing that had no edge or floor,
and fear ran in and slammed the door.
But little signs kept calling softly
through the decades and the pain,
through every homesick film reunion,
through every loss that spoke my name.
So here I am, with less protection,
with more rawness in the skin,
and what once looked like annihilation
now feels like home trying to get in.
Final Chorus
So let there be no final answer.
Let the questions drift and bloom.
Let the old self fade like perfume
in a half-lit borrowed room.
And if I cry and laugh together,
if I can’t explain a thing,
maybe that’s the closest music
to the truth of what is happening.
Outro
Warm chocolate.
Warm mud.
No center.
No crown.
Just this mystery
softly, wildly,
wearing me down
into home.
