Blind Angels

Intro - spoken] Counts every mark like stars in the night… But none lead her home. No shield in sight. [Verse 1 – strings crescendo] She draws constellations over scars that sting, etched by a father she can’t begin to read. His hands bloom bruises like thorny vines, her body’s a warzone, no cease, no signs. Her mother turns away, eyes shut tight, deaf to the screams, cold to the f***t. She watches from shadows, never extends, as the dark snuffs out her dreams again. [Pre-Chorus – strings rise higher] Eyes like fire, soul pitch-black, face serene, but the storm attacks. She’s ice and blaze, a full-blown w*r, no victors here—just wax and ash on the floor. [Hook – scream] She wears pain like it’s written in verse, sleeve hides cuts, each one a curse. Cracked-up mask, light that deceives, truths too twisted for hearts to believe. She dances with shadows, twin-faced and sly, where truth breaks down and starts to die. No one sees her, no one calls, she bleeds in silence, begs night to fall. [Verse 2 – rap] She writes in b***d on frozen tiles, fingers shake, but the message survives. Each letter’s a scream no ear can catch, a red prayer, raw and detached. She dreams of angels who don’t ask why, who read her pain, not the sins she hides. She wants to fly, not chase a smile, just vanish—no heaven, no trial. But wings don’t lift shattered bones, don’t heal the soul or cracks unknown. Just illusions, no rescue near, she sinks while silence sears. [Spoken flow] Counts her father’s lies… in bruises deep, Counts her mother’s silence… in shivers that creep. No one comes… no one replies, Her scream… just echo in the tide. [Bridge – introspective] She built a house inside her head, hallways filled with cries unsaid. Packed her pain in boxes tight, wrapped in goodbyes lost in the night. [Final Hook – scream] Tonight she changes address, takes flight, toward blind angels, toward the blight. Her life erased by frost and hate, father a blade, mother a drape. A note left hanging: “Forgive the pain, I’m leaving now, can’t bear the strain.” Her voice now just an echo that stays, a warning carved in the storm’s haze. [Outro – spoken flow] Now the cuts aren’t skin-deep… they’re carved in stone, like stars that weep. She’s there, silent… more seen now that she’s breathless. The wind laughs through cold headstones, no one asks if she’s alone. Only the marble knows her name. Only the dark… knows who she became.