Depression

Описание: [Intro – whispered, tense]
Yeah… lights low… strings rising slow…
Feels like I’m standing in the doorway of my own shadow.
If the world wants the highlight reel, they’re gonna hate this part.
This one’s for the quiet nights… the ones that leave a mark.

[Verse 1 – slow, atmospheric]
I’ve been waking up in rooms that don’t feel like mine,
walls breathing heavy like they’re counting my time.
Floorboards hum when I take each step,
like something under my feet is teaching me depth.
I move through the halls like a thought I forgot,
a ghost in a jacket I wish I had not
grown into, sewn into, losing the thread—
every memory echoes like it’s waking the dead.

And the sky outside stays a permanent gray,
clouds stretched thin like they’re trying to say
“Not every morning is meant to be bright.”
Yeah… some days fight you before you can fight.
I keep pressing my palms to my ribs just to feel
something remind me that beating is real.
People talk big about strength on demand,
but they don’t know the weight of an unmoving hand.

[Pre-Chorus – orchestral rise, tension tightening]
I stand in the mirror like I’m bracing for news,
like I’m waiting on proof I’ve got nothing left to lose.
But the silence speaks louder than the faces I’ve met,
telling me the scenes I skipped aren’t done with me yet.

[Hook – cinematic, half-sung rap]
Every day feels like a film unfinished,
frames out of order, colors diminished.
But I walk through the reel like I’m meant to be here—
even when doubt cuts close to the ear.
If the choir wants truth, let them carry my sound—
I’m still climbing, even when the fall pulls down.

[Verse 2 – faster, rap-driven, emotional punch]
Look—some nights I pace like the floor’s gonna crack,
like the air might collapse if I turn my back.
My thoughts load up like a drumline drill,
tight, relentless, too sharp to kill.
And I talk to myself like a witness on stand,
trying to explain what I can’t understand.
Why the pressure keeps rising with no clear source,
why hope feels stolen without any force.

I walk past people who swear they can tell
when someone’s slipping, but I hide too well.
They see the jacket, the shoes, the grin—
not the thunderstorm kept under my skin.
Yeah, I laugh on cue, I perform just fine,
but inside I’m running a collapsing timeline.
And the world keeps spinning like my pace ain’t slow,
like the weight I’m dragging won’t ever show.

[Bridge – strings swell, choir hums softly]
I’m learning that battles don’t always look loud,
sometimes they shape you without drawing a crowd.
Sometimes the hardest fights leave no bruise—
just a quiet ache in the spaces you lose.

[Verse 3 – large, cinematic, heavy emotional storytelling]
I’ve stood on rooftops just to breathe new air,
thinking maybe the view might untangle despair.
City lights flicker like they’re trying to confess
that everything bright hides a measure of stress.
And down below, people move with intent,
eyes locked forward, backs unbent.
But inside their chests? Who knows what screams,
what heaviness drags at the hems of their dreams.

I’ve walked through crowds feeling painfully small,
like my voice wouldn’t matter if I yelled at all.
Like I’m a subtitle in a film too loud,
barely noticed, swallowed by the crowd.
But even in moments I felt erased,
I kept my steps steady, my fear misplaced.
’Cause something inside—tiny, frayed—
keeps whispering, “move… you’re not meant to fade.”

[Pre-Hook – drums tighten, pulse increases]
I’m no superhero, no chosen son—
I break like anyone else comes undone.
But I rise in ways I don’t always see,
like the fight I’m in is still choosing me.

[Hook – full choir, cinematic lift]
Every day feels like a film unfinished,
frames out of order, colors diminished.
But I walk through the reel like I’m meant to be here—
even when doubt cuts close to the ear.
If the choir wants truth, let them carry my sound—
I’m still climbing, even when the fall pulls down.

[Outro – quiet, intimate, strings fading]
Yeah… maybe I’m cracked, but I’m still intact,
still turning pages where the world turned back.
And if tomorrow hits harder than today allowed,
I’ll meet it standing—
even if my knees aren’t proud.