[Verse 1] Liquor on my breath, truth stuck in my tongue, bar tabs, brown bags, bad math I’d been running. French Quarter heat hit the glass like a test, but my chest went dead still, all clench—no rest. Club wall thumping, kick drum in the ribs, I kept tripping on the track, caught in the slip of it. Chrome on my cuff, on the floor, in the smoke, and the mirror by dawn kept joking the joke. Face in the panel, all crackle and loop, same old script, same old slip, same old proof. The bass kept banging, but it couldn’t break that kink in my throat when the cap got pried. Outside, everybody polished and primed, inside, I’m split—grin half-stitched to the side. [Chorus] Smoke is clearing, now I see the wreck, bottle in my fist, still coming up less. Laughed too loud, now I’m solo at home, trying to turn this bar into somewhere I know. Smoke is clearing, I can’t pretend, this road I’m on bends, or it bites at the end. Been marbling pain through a rinse of gin, but it drags me back, click-clack, to my door again. [Verse 2] Knew the quick kick, thought it cut me clean, like a hot-wire twitch in a pinched-up scene. Kept that kid boxed up, taped tight, shut, toxic little circuit with a dead-bolt cut. Each hard hit had a clipped, cracked snap, static in my teeth, then the body snapped back. NOLA nights, that slick-skin grin, concrete calm with a fault-line in. Got the proof in my palm, got the bruise in my grin, same old trick, same old click, same old spin. Now I track the facts in the sink, in the glass, watch the stain come crawling, tack by tack, from the past. Can’t bluff what’s real, it clocks me in, turns every slick dodge back on my skin. [Bridge] And the ice in the glass don’t fix what I’m carrying, it just talks back loud when the room goes still. I been blaming the bar, blaming the buzz, blaming anything but the hand on the wheel, the nod, the will. So I let that last sip sit where it sits, let the truth come up, raw, no gloss, no script. If I’m built from the break, I can build from the break— same pulse, new pattern, I don’t need the slip. [Chorus – Final] Smoke is clearing, now I see the wreck, bottle set down, I’m not coming up less. Laughed too loud, now I’m solo at home, but I can turn this bar into somewhere I know. Smoke is clearing, I can’t pretend, this road I’m on bends, but it ain’t where I end. Been marbling pain through a rinse of gin, now I let it pass, click-clack, and don’t go back again. [Outro – Gentle, soft resolve] So I crack the blinds… let the quiet cut clean. Still split… but that’s where I breathe.
