COUNTERFEIT ID

[Verse 1]
The vinyl on the county seat at 800 H Street still cold from the night.
Form TD-420.2, clutched in my hand so damn tight.
Antoine, I wore your Carhartt, smelled like your cigarettes and motor oil still,
thought it'd make me look older, give my voice a lower fill.
Felt the whole room's tired breathing, a collective, quiet sigh,
like we all got the same notice from the wildfire-colored sky.
I'm seventeen, staring at a box for 'Spouse's Legal Name',
trying to transfer a title, trying to reroute the whole damn game.

[Chorus]
Pen in my hand, the ink is wet and permanent and slow.
Just signed my name right where a grown man's is supposed to go.
They didn't check the date of birth, they just saw the need to know.
Sixteen years old and suddenly I'm runnin' the whole show.

[Verse 2]
The lady at the counter, her name tag read 'Darlene'.
She looked right through my shoulder at some distant, faded scene.
She asked, "You the responsible party?" and her voice was monotone,
I nodded, couldn't trust myself to speak, felt the pressure in the bone.
Saw a kid's face in the plexiglass, eyes too wide for the frame,
remembered fixing the water heater, whispering your name
like a prayer or a curse word when the pilot light went out.
This is what they never tell you survivor's guilt is about.

[Chorus]
Pen in my hand, the ink is wet and permanent and slow.
Just signed my name right where a grown man's is supposed to go.
They didn't check the date of birth, they just saw the cost to know.
Felt my own damn childhood lock the deadbolt and not grow.

[Bridge]
That signature was structural, a new load-bearing beam
in a blueprint I was drawing in a nightmare, not a dream.
Every line I initialed was a future re-arranged,
a quiet demolition, a foundation changed.

[Chorus]
Pen in my hand, the ink is cold, a fact I've come to know.
Just signed my name right where a grown man's is supposed to go.
They'll never check the date of birth, just the balance that you owe.
It's just another revision in the floor plan, you know?

[Outro]
The heavy 'thunk' of her rubber stamp hitting the page.
Echoed in that quiet room, turning my age.