Cold Glass, Warm Ashes

[Verse 1]
Backpack bedroll, bus stop dresser
Shopping cart chariot, rust-rot compressor
Lil king of the corner with a crown of sores
Torch in his pocket, burns holes through doors
Soap‑dish savings, twenty bag ledger
Glass stem scepter, frostbite measure
Lungs full of hail, every breath like theft
Every hit carves scripture in the side of his chest
Dumpster dinner, cold fries, warm ketchup
Laughs at the rats, says, “we all gotta catch up”
Eyes like slot machines, pupils spin reels
Chasing that jackpot he can’t even feel
Whole block graveyard, candles in shutters
He’s a ghost on the route, just rattling gutters
Selling snow in July, in a threadbare coat
Trying to buy one night he can’t float
[Chorus]
Cold glass, warm ashes in my hand (in my hand)
Whole world wrote me off in the sand
If love was a house, I missed the land
If home was a word, I never learned to stand
Cold glass, warm ashes in my veins
Every hug I never had turns to stains
If there’s a God, he’s skipping my name
I’m just the space between the frames (yeah)
[Verse 2]
Phone at the mission, plastic cord halo
Dial tone humming like a heart set on slow
Mama at the edge of every static crack
Voice mailbox full, but it never talks back
Nurse on the line like a winter wind
Flat voice folding every sin he’s in
“Stage four, then the door… then the silence came”
Sentence lands quiet, but it amputates his name
He dropped that pipe, heard glass hit God
Shards on the floor like a cheap stained nod
Mama’s last breath spent praying for a son
He was under an overpass, racing the gun
Love’s like credit, you inherit the debt
He got passed down promises, all came in regret
He a scarecrow stitched out of people’s leaving
Hand out for change, but it’s love he’s needing
[Bridge]
I’m a bruise in a jacket, not a man, I’m a rumor
A rumor in sneakers, eating guilt like a tumor
Mama was the moon, I was staring at the street
Now the sky’s just static and concrete
[Chorus]
Cold glass, warm ashes in my hand (in my hand)
Whole world wrote me off in the sand
If love was a house, I missed the land
If home was a word, I never learned to stand
Cold glass, warm ashes in my veins
Every hug I never had turns to stains
If there’s a God, he’s skipping my name
I’m just the space between the frames (between the frames)

rap, Bleak, cinematic boom-bap with male vocals; dusty drums, distant choirs, and a detuned piano loop under a cold, close-mic’d rap. Verses stay tense and narrative-heavy, bass pulsing like a heartbeat. Chorus widens with haunting vocal chops and low synth pads, slight distortion creeping in on ad-libs for emotional climax., complex