Verse
I wore the names
they handed down,
learned when to smile,
learned when to frown.
I took the roads
that opened wide,
never asked who
was choosing the ride.
Faces and voices,
rooms I outgrew,
each left a mark
I carried on through.
I called it living,
I called it fate,
never saw the hands
that were shaping my shape.
Chorus
I’m not cynical,
I’m not blind,
to the world at large,
I’m not unkind.
I’ve been molded,
I’ve been formed ,
by the many processes,
like being reborn.
Standing upright,
Appearing tall,
hardened by scar tissue,
that won’t let me fall.
Verse
I fought the world
when I was young,
with borrowed anger
on my tongue.
Then fought myself
for what I’d become,
for every battle
I should’ve won.
But looking backward
from farther down,
there’s no straight line
to where I am now.
A thousand currents,
a million turns,
some left me colder,
some made me learn.
Chorus
I’m not cynical,
I’m not blind,
to the world at large,
I’m not unkind.
I’ve been molded,
I’ve been formed ,
by the many processes,
like being reborn.
Standing upright,
Appearing tall,
hardened by scar tissue,
that won’t let me fall.
Bridge
Now the road gets narrow,
and the daylight runs thin,
so I’m done looking outward
for who I should’ve been.
Let them keep their measures,
their rules and their plans,
their neatly drawn pictures
of what makes a man.
I don’t need forgiveness
for the shape that I’m in.
Every scar on the outside
left something within.
And whatever time’s left me,
however long it may be,
I won’t spend one more minute
being anybody but me.
Verse
So call me stubborn,
call me strange,
I spent half a lifetime
being rearranged.
Now I choose quiet,
I choose my ground,
I choose what stays
when no one’s around.
No revolution,
no flag to raise,
no need to burn down
the rest of my days.
The final rebellion
is simple and free:
the world can keep turning
it won’t turn me.
Chorus
I’m not cynical,
I’m not blind,
to the world at large,
I’m not unkind.
I’ve been molded,
I’ve been formed ,
by the many processes,
like being reborn.
Standing upright,
Appearing tall,
hardened by scar tissue,
that won’t let me fall.
Outro
I won’t curse the river
for carrying me here.
I won’t waste what’s remaining
on regret or on fear.
The current can pull me,
the wind can still call
but the scars that once hardened me
don’t own me at all.
I’ve got less road before me
than the road left behind,
so whatever is waiting
can wait on my time.
No more asking the world
who it wants me to be.
For whatever comes after
this part belongs to me.
