LYRIC FOR SALE

By Theresa Astrea

Verse 1
I grew in a paper-house,
where silence wore a crown.
Tears were taxed as treason,
so I learned to swallow sound.

Verse 2
When I spoke, they threw me names—
empty coins, cold shine.
No questions. No witness.
Just smoke where truth should rise.

Chorus
This is the unbecoming—
the dark catches fire.
I say what I am feeling
and the lie expires.
I let it burn through bone and breath,
I don’t bow to the shame.
This is the unbecoming—
I won’t answer to their name.

Verse 3
Some doors close on their own
when my pulse comes through.
What can’t hold my living voice
was never true.

Bridge
The hollow-fed love the tender.
They herd their ghost parade.
They knock on every back door
of the self you never saved.
But I’m not paper anymore—
I’m iron at the seam.
Their old tricks hit the surface
and drown in my new dream.

Verse 4
They trade in charm and favors,
wear borrowed light as sight.
Hunger calls itself a kingdom,
but it breeds in shade and night.

Chorus (Reprise)
This is the unbecoming—
the dark catches fire.
I speak it into daylight
and the lie retires.
I let it burn me honest,
I don’t kneel to the shame.
This is the unbecoming—
I won’t answer to their name.

Outro (Chant / Bind)
Same hands. Same reaching.
Bound and denied.
No claim, no cord, no passage
to this life.
Mine.