Crescent Mark

[Verse 1]
I was born under the Cobo lights, November tenth.
A red leather glove, a split-second of crimson rent.
Your corner man screamed, "Just a bleeder, kid, it ain't deep."
Now I'm the promise your reflection has to keep.
I hold the faint metallic smell of canvas and of doubt.
The one punch you never figured a way out.

[Chorus]
I'm the story with a sealed lip.
The crescent mark your fingers trip
Over when the quiet gets too loud,
a silver line inside a cloud.

[Verse 2]
I live here, just above your left-side brow.
I feel the pressure of your thumb, right now.
It's three in the morning, face to the bathroom tile, cold.
You trace my edges, a map of getting old.
I don't remember the pain, I just am the scar.
I watch you listen to voicemails in your car.

[Chorus]
I'm the story with a sealed lip.
The crescent mark your fingers trip
Over when the quiet gets too loud,
a silver line inside a cloud.

[Bridge]
That final bell still rings inside my stitch-tight skin.
A high, thin echo of where the world caved in.
Not a wound anymore, just a line drawn in the sand.
A language only your own two hands understand.

[Outro]
I'm the map.
The crescent mark.