Valet Prayer

[Verse 1]
The valet key for the G-Wagon is cold in my palm, it's 3 AM.
Dear future me, you listening from inside the intercom?
I'm drafting this prayer on a damp napkin by the riverfront fan,
while the pluff mud reminds me of the boy before the man.
Hope the marble floors you walk on don't echo back your name,
hope the foundation's solid, not just gilded over the shame.
I see the blueprints in my sleep, the load-bearing quiet, the structural pain,
the infinity pool reflecting nothing but that Savannah rain.

[Verse 2]
Did you buy the house on Isle of Hope? The one with the verdigris gate?
Did you put Mom in the master, tell her, "It's never too late"?
And do you stand in that kitchen, a ghost in your own estate?
One fork in the dishwasher, just you and a porcelain plate?
The tourists I park for, they got that second-home dread in their gaze.
He asked, "Is this all you do?" and I swallowed a whole literary phase.
I hope you ain't become him, just a new thread in the same gilded tapestry,
a beautiful ruin, a masterpiece of catastrophe.

[Bridge]
So look, if you get this, if this somehow transmits through the years,
don't just stand on that balcony and catalog all your private fears.
For a second, remember the feel of these borrowed car keys,
and how we built this whole damn mansion on an imposter's disease.

(Beat cuts to total silence for 4 seconds)

[Coda]
(Beat returns; sparse 808 and synth stab)
...Or don't.
Whatever. The check cleared, right?