BURNING THROUGH (She feels this)
VERSE 1
Some roads shine with golden grace,
Some just cut you to the bone.
You chose the one that burned but called you,
Freedom in disguise, alone.
Left turns into breaking,
Right turns into pain.
But every wound became the doorway
Back to where you started again.
PRE-CHORUS
And the ones who never fell
Don’t know what it cost—
To choose between two kinds of losing
And still fight not to be lost.
CHORUS
Maybe every road was always leading here,
Every wrong turn breathing life into the fear.
Maybe choice is just the story that we tell
To feel the wheel is ever really ours to steer.
Still I choose—
Source in motion, I still choose.
Bittersweet, miraculous,
Already there—and always new.
VERSE 2
Some wake in sunlight, sure and blessed,
The rest wake guarded, robbed of rest.
But both arrive as unguarded souls
At the same unmarked door laid bare.
What was freedom dressed as fate?
What was will pretending still?
Did we call it something holy
Just to make the hunger still?
CHORUS
Maybe every road was always leading here,
Every detour shaped the breath that brought me near.
Maybe choice is just the veil that love can wear,
To play forgetting with the self that’s always there.
Still I choose—
Source unfolding, I still choose.
Bittersweet and boundless,
Already there—and breaking through.
BRIDGE — slow gospel rise
They gave it a name, carved it in stone.
Bowed to a sky like it wasn’t their own.
But when the walls broke down and silence moved through,
What I found wasn’t God—it was truth.
It was breath, it was fire,
It was me burning through.
Not above, not beyond,
Not apart, but through.
I am the source.
Never the seeker.
God was the label—
Source is the speaker.
FINAL CHORUS — half-time, soaring
Maybe every road was always leading home,
Every loss a seed the wind had sown.
Maybe choice was never stolen, never torn—
The choosing and the destiny were one.
So I choose—
With everything I’ve lost, I choose.
Bittersweet, transparent, free,
Already source, already me.
OUTRO — spoken
They called it God
Because they’d forgotten the sound
Of their own becoming.
When you remember—
There’s no name,
No sky,
No ground.
Only source,
Choosing,
Endlessly,
Itself.
CoherenceInBloom