She's Not Like the Others

(60s lounge ballad — velvet baritone, orchestral sweep, subtle Eastern melodic turns)

Soft strings drift like cigarette smoke in a quiet lounge… piano like falling rain over lacquered wood… brass rising slow and confident…

I’ve watched them all from high above the world,

little flickers, fragile sparks that burn and fade away…

They bow, they break, they bargain with the dark,

but she… she just looks it in the eye and stays.

There’s iron in her silence, there’s thunder in her breath,

not the kind you teach in courtly halls or throne-lit games…

And I, who have known a thousand human hearts,

find hers… does not follow any of their names.

I hear it in the space between her words,

like distant temple bells beneath the storm…

Something ancient in a mortal shape—

something refusing to be warm.

She’s not like the others, no…

not carved from the usual clay.

She walks through fire like she remembers it,

like she’s walked it every day.

And I— I should understand her,

I should turn and walk away…

but I find myself returning

just to watch her choose her way.

I’ve seen kings dressed in certainty and gold,

I’ve seen rebels burn out chasing empty skies…

But she speaks like truth is something forged in pain,

and never once do I hear her compromise.

There’s a rhythm in her defiance,

like a distant eastern drum,

measured… patient… unafraid of what will come.

And I, who judge in centuries of scale,

find my judgment coming undone.

[Bridge] (strings rise, almost orchestral sorrow)

What is she, if not like the rest I’ve known?

A flaw in pattern… or a truth I’ve never shown?

If humans break so easily,

then why does she remain… alone?

She’s not like the others, no…

she doesn’t bend to the night.

Even when the world goes quiet,

she still argues for the light.

And I— I should be certain,

I should call her just a phase…

but I’m learning there are answers

that don’t fit into my gaze.

[Outro] (soft lounge fade, brushed drums, fading trumpet)

So I watch… and I wonder…

and I learn a little more each day…

about why one human soul

refuses to drift away…

Steel in a soft voice,

she holds the storm in her hands—

and calls it mercy.