Furniture

Verse 1

I sit in the corner of the same old room,

Watching life keep going like it never had to choose.

They’re laughing in the hallway, footsteps running past—

And I’m just trying to matter more

than something built to last.

I hold the coats and burdens that nobody recalls,

A frame that’s getting weaker as they lean against my walls.

And I smile so they don’t notice how the silence wears me thin—

How long before they realize

I’m fading into skin?

Chorus

I feel like furniture—

Something they just navigate,

Learned to live around me

like I’m part of the paint.

I’m steady, I’m quiet,

but God, I miss being known…

Standing in a house full of people

but feeling carved from stone.

I feel like furniture—

Still here, but left alone.

Verse 2

I used to be a someone, not a surface or a chair,

A voice that filled the hallway, not a shadow on the stairs.

But life gets heavy, schedules full, and somehow I got lost—

Holding up the weight of love

without being asked.

They don’t mean to overlook me, I know that in my bones—

They’re moving through the moments,

I’m the fixture in their home.

But sometimes I remember when my presence sparked a flame…

Now I’m just the quiet space

they step around again.

Chorus

I feel like furniture—

Something they just navigate,

Learned to live around me

like I’m part of the paint.

I’m steady, I’m quiet,

but God, I miss being known…

Standing in a house full of people

but feeling carved from stone.

I feel like furniture—

Still here, but left alone.

Bridge

And I know they love me—

they’d swear it’s not this way…

But they don’t see me slipping

in the places where I stay.

If I broke, would they notice?

If I vanished, would they call?

Or would the room just breathe a bit

and settle like nothing changed at all?

Chorus

I feel like furniture—

Still waiting to be touched,

Still praying for a moment

I might finally mean enough.

I’m steady, I’m quiet,

but I’m aching to be shown

that I’m more than wood and silence

in the place we call our home.

I feel like furniture—

Still here… just wanting to be known.