Chapter 03 · 5 min 04 sec
Start Somewhere
The invisible inheritance — what our ancestors planted in us without us knowing.
Lyrics· 761 words
[Intro] Yeah You don’t need the perfect moment You need the first move Start somewhere
[Verse 1] I was waiting for a sign till the sky went black Waiting for a door with a knife in my back Waiting for the fear to disappear from my chest Waiting for a cleaner version of myself to step
But the clock don’t care And the pain won’t pause And the world keeps spinning with its blood in its jaws So I stood in the wreckage with my hands still shaking Told my dead dreams, “Move, we are done with waiting”
I don’t need a clean road I don’t need a green light I don’t need applause when I step in the streetlight I don’t need a plan with a perfect little map I just need one foot to attack the gap
Move with the panic Move with the shame Move with the storm still screaming your name Move with the doubt like a dog on a chain Move till the movement starts killing the pain
[Pre-Chorus] Start with the breath Start with the floor Start with the fist On the locked door
Start with the scar Start with the stone Start where you are Start on your own
[Chorus] Start somewhere Start bleeding Start scared Start breathing
Start broken Start furious Start ugly Start serious
One step Then another Drag yourself From the thunder
Start somewhere Start now Burn the old world down
[Verse 2] Fast
I had a thousand excuses doing laps in my skull Had a mouth full of plans and a life standing still Had a heart like a cage, had a mind like a court Had a dream getting sentenced before it got born
“Not today, not ready, not strong, not yet” That’s the anthem of regret with a rope round its neck That’s the lullaby sung by the grave to the living That’s a thief in your blood and you keep forgiving
No more Kick the hinges off the thought No more Let the fear rot where it talks No more Waiting for the wound to approve No more You become when you move
I don’t care if the first line sucks I don’t care if the first fight cuts I don’t care if they laugh when the first step drops Every king was a fool when the climb first stopped
Build bad Build loud Build wrong Build proud
Write dirt Bleed sound Fall hard Get found
This is not talent This is violence with direction This is discipline becoming resurrection This is one small act with a war behind its eyes This is how the dead part of you starts to rise
[Pre-Chorus] Start with the breath Start with the floor Start with the fist On the locked door
Start with the scar Start with the stone Start where you are Start on your own
[Chorus] Start somewhere Start bleeding Start scared Start breathing
Start broken Start furious Start ugly Start serious
One step Then another Drag yourself From the thunder
Start somewhere Start now Burn the old world down
[Breakdown] No more waiting
No more perfect
No more pretty little prison
No more silence
No more hiding
No more asking for permission
[Verse 3] Let me go harder
Start in the dirt with the worms and the rust Start with the hunger that nobody trusts Start with the rage that you buried for years Start with the hand that is shaking from fear
Start with no money, no muscle, no crowd Start with your name barely making a sound Start with the room where you nearly gave in Start with the breath that refuses the end
I came from the no-place, low-face, cold-space No grace, slow days, soul full of old graves But I took one step, then two, then war Then I kicked through the back of a locked steel door
Now I don’t negotiate with hesitation I don’t shake hands with procrastination I don’t make peace with a life half-made I don’t call it fate when I know I stayed
So move Before the fear gets comfortable Move Before the cage gets beautiful Move Before the grave sounds reasonable Move Till the impossible is reachable
[Final Chorus] Start somewhere Start bleeding Start scared Start breathing
Start broken Start furious Start ugly Start serious
One step Then another Drag yourself From the thunder
Start somewhere Start now Burn the old world down
[Outro] Start with nothing Start with pain Start with fire Start again
Start with nothing Start with pain Start with fire Start again
Short Story
*The hardest sentence is the one you begin with.*
David had been meaning to write the letter for six years.
He knew this precisely because his daughter was six years old and the letter had been waiting since the day she was born — the letter to his own father, who had not been told he had a grandchild, who did not know because of something that had happened before the birth and had never been repaired.
Six years of meaning to start.
He sat down on a Tuesday evening, no particular reason, no catalyst beyond the fact that his daughter had looked at him at dinner with his father's eyes and he had felt the time, suddenly and completely, as a weight.
He opened a notebook. He wrote: *Dear Dad.*
Then he sat there for twenty minutes, looking at two words.
Then he wrote: *I don't know how to do this.*
Then, because that was true, he kept going.
The letter took three hours. It was not the letter he'd planned for six years — it was messier, more honest, less organised. It said things he hadn't known he was going to say. It was not polished.
He read it back. He sealed it. He found the address from his sister. He walked to the post box at eleven at night in his coat over his pyjamas and he stood there for one more minute and then he posted it.
He walked home feeling hollowed out and, underneath that, something else. Something that might, eventually, be relief.
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*The beginning doesn't have to be good. It just has to exist.*
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