I want to write a song today from six feet under here.
Won’t paint to kill the dead saints but I want to make it clear
that I’ve been praying in the dark while lying in this grave,
and wishing the bathwater clean in hopes that it can save.

I hope to finally find the strength. I know I have to try,
but so far every effort yields the gist of one big lie.
That’s why I’m here, I’ve learned there is no X amount of words
that have the power to change despite how many I have heard.

But I know I’m the one who has to claw my up through
this dirt room I have called my home, it’s time for me to do
whatever it takes can’t you see, the end is at the door?
I want to rise and feel that I’m not broken anymore.

Cuz everything is changed by time, why should I die alone?
Why shouldn’t I break through this ground, rise up and make a home?
So I will write a song today as if I were a king,
then you will know, “I won’t let go” by every word I sing.