Glass Wings

(Instrumental)
(Verse 1)
She stitched her dreams in paper lace,
brushed the dust from windowpanes.
Moonlight pooled along the floor,
a silver path, an unlocked door.
She traced the lines on yellowed maps,
fingers ghosting paper cracks.
The roads looked soft in candlelight,
a whispered promise: Not this life.
(Chorus)
She swears the sky remembers names,
even ones that end in flame.
And if the ground was built to keep,
she’d find a way to make it weep.
If wings must break before they fly,
at least she’d fall toward open sky.
(Verse 2)
The wind would press against the glass,
soft hands calling, pull me past.
The house would groan, the rafters sway,
as if they knew she’d slip away.
Footsteps heavy, breath held tight,
shadows stretched in hallway light.
A voice like gravel, ground-down stone—
“A girl like you won’t make it alone.”
(Chorus)
She swears the sky remembers names,
even ones that end in flame.
And if the ground was built to keep,
she’d find a way to make it weep.
If wings must break before they fly,
at least she’d fall toward open sky.
(Verse 3)
She climbed the fence, her arms went numb,
metal biting into thumbs.
The sky was stitched in ragged thread,
but still, it pulled, it never bent.
A breath, a leap—her glass wings shined,
and for a moment, she was light.
Then silence fell, a silver thread,
soft as snow, as bright as red.
(Outro)
The wind still hums against the door,
low and patient, same as before.
And in the quiet, something stays—
a name the sky still learns to say.

Sincere, sad, emotional, varied melodies, full sound, melodious female voice