Lyrics

I didn’t crawl out of my mother,I was coaxed out by a hymn that didn’t want me.Taught my thighs were shame,my mouth too wide for heaven.But the piano never flinched.Born in lace and silence, raised in polished pews,they taught me thunder in a girl was the wrong hue.But I was born from a piano’s whisper.
She never judged,never looked away when I placed my wounds between her teeth and whispered “Play me.and I was born with a piano’s moan,A preacher’s child, but never owned.A stained-glass girl with a cracked confession,Hid thunder in every repressed obsession.They told me, “Close your legs. Speak clean.”But I learned to split the in-betweens.Because the piano knew my hell, she held my truths,she wore them well.She was never silent, never pulled away,When I told her the secrets I couldn’t say.And they asked why the girl would bleed,On the bench without a single plea, They called me trouble. Red hair.rage.Too loud to kneel in Jesus’ name.So I sang,“Father Lucifer, you never looked so sane.”because I had to flirt with devils just to reclaim what the saints erased. And I told them,”This is how a witch will pray,When God has thrown his ears away.”
They said,“Little earthquakes don’t kill.”
But that’s a lie.The softest tremble can split your ribs if it’s timed right.And I learned time. I learned control.How to sing a scream and make it whole, turn it into song, cry in key and make it beautiful, while it ruins you.”Me and a Gun” wasn’t a song.It was a goddamn autopsy. I sang it bare,no chords, no veil.
Because sometimes silence tells the tale.A thousand violins can’t replace,The weight of purity’s erased. They say,”Why does she moan like she’s possessed?”Because sacred lives within distress.Because when your body’s cast away,Your voice becomes the only way. So I spike my psalms with holy bile,
Smear on blood and preach a while. I don’t want your applause.I want your discomfort.I want your skin to crawl like mine,when I sing of you,let contempt drip from my words like holy wine,I don’t sing—I seethe.I don’t play—I breathe,Blood into chords and teeth into tone.I call the dark and make it known.i don’t play piano. I split skies.I thread octaves like rosaries of fire and lies. Still—I rise. I stitched my trauma into lullabies,Now mothers hum it, not knowing why. From under the altar,from vinyl and ash,from every man who called my rage off-key.i took and turned it in every girl’s throat,made it so we all could sing.