Fabric Of This Grey Settee

Verse 1

Arms over the counter, sitting in the gloom,

holding printouts, deadlines, and a quiet sort of doom.

I smile and give a thumbs up, say that I'm doing fine,

while a mountain stacks beside me, stealing all my time.

But the second the deadbolt clicks, the posture goes,

standing in the entryway, watching the colors go

Wondering if walking away is a white flag,

or just a head start.

Chorus

And I am burying myself in the fabric of this grey settee,

tangled up in wool, trying to remember how to breathe.

But the world outside is spinning faster while I'm frozen on the floor,

and I'm staring through the window blinds, not knowing anymore.

Just doomscrolling the hours, watching static on a screen,

caught between the person I am and the one I should be

Verse 2

Cheek pressed flat against my hand, staring into space,

the silence in the living room is a heavy, cold embrace.

Even the cat is lying still upon the wooden floor,

we've run out of momentum, we don't wonder anymore.

Slumped across the settee with crumpled sheets of ink,

trying to force the words out, but I'm too tired to think.

So I slide down into the hallway, spine against the drywall,

where nobody can ask me why I'm shrinking.

Chorus

And I am burying myself in the fabric of this grey settee,

tangled up in wool, trying to remember how to breathe.

But the world outside is spinning faster while I'm frozen on the floor,

and I'm staring through the window blinds, not knowing anymore.

Just doomscrolling the hours, watching static on a screen,

caught between the person I am and the one I should be.

Bridge

Through the plastic slats, the sun is doing something beautiful,

casting long pink lines across the floorboards.

But it takes a hell of a lot of survival

just to look like you're surviving,

when your own hair is the only color left in the house.

Final Chorus

As I pull myself up from the fabric of this grey settee,

shedding the wool, just trying hard to let it be.

The world outside is still spinning too fast,

but I'm opening up these window blinds,

wiping the static from the screen.

Still caught between who I am and who I'll be—

but tomorrow, I'm choosing me.

Outro

A fake smile for the morning shift.

A quiet room at midnight.

The pink hair catching the last of the sun.

The fading out of the light.

No more sinking

No more sinking