00:00/00:00
外链地址
https://www.eemp3.com/audiofile/dcf65a2eccbd0ce6d58f8e4bd13b8220.mp3
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I can feel it in my bones,
a low hum in my ears,
all the words I kept unspoken,
all the things I held so dear.
For a long time I clenched them tight,
never let them touch the air,
pressed them down into my notebooks
like secrets no one else could bear.
But ink turns restless in the dark,
scratching at the page—
and one night it climbed right out of me,
refusing to behave.
Now the words just bubble up,
spill out before I think,
turn to poems on my tongue,
turn to songs before I blink.
Call it magic, call it madness,
call it heart or call it hymn—
but I can’t stop the rhythm rising
from the deepest place within.
They clawed, they scrabbled,
they broke loose from the quiet,
dragging melody behind them
like sparks starting a riot.
I answer friends in verses now,
confess my sins in rhyme,
walking lighter through the world
but thinking deeper every time.
Maybe healing isn’t gentle,
maybe truth is loud and raw—
maybe singing is the only way
to survive the things we saw.
So let the words keep bubbling up,
let them rise and let them spin—
turn my silence into thunder,
turn my losses into wind.
If it’s magic or it’s madness,
I’m still learning where I’ve been—
but I’ll follow every rhythm
from the lifelines in my skin.