| I woke up from the same dream:
|
| Falling backwards, falling backwards
|
| 'Til it turned me inside out.
|
| Now I live a waking life
|
| Of looking backwards, looking backwards;
|
| A model citizen of doubt.
|
| Until one day I had enough
|
| Of this exercise of trust.
|
| I leaned in and let it hurt,
|
| And let my body feel the dirt.
|
| When I break pattern, I break ground.
|
| I rebuild when I break down.
|
| I wake up more awake than I’ve ever been before.
|
| Still I’m pinned under the weight
|
| Of what I believed would keep me safe.
|
| So show me where my armor ends,
|
| Show me where my skin begins.
|
| Like a final puzzle piece
|
| It all makes perfect sense to me…
|
| The heaviness that I hold in my heart belongs to gravity.
|
| The heaviness that I hold in my heart’s been crushing me.
|
| I’ve been worried all my life,
|
| A nervous wreck most of the time.
|
| I’ve always been afraid of heights,
|
| Of falling backwards, falling backwards.
|
| I’ve been worried all my life.
|
| 'Til one day I had enough
|
| Of this exercise of trust.
|
| I leaned in and let it hurt,
|
| Let my body feel the dirt.
|
| When I break pattern, I break ground.
|
| I rebuild when I break down.
|
| I wake up more awake than I’ve ever been before.
|
| Still I’m pinned under the weight
|
| Of what I believed would keep me safe.
|
| So show me where my armor ends,
|
| Show me where my skin begins.
|
| Like a final puzzle piece,
|
| It all makes perfect sense to me…
|
| The heaviness that I hold in my heart belongs to gravity.
|
| The heaviness in my heart belongs to gravity. |