(Lyrics by Adam Schwartz)
[Verse 1]
Hands tied, Jaw wired, Breath on hold
Walls grin wide like something old
She laughs in static, it’s inside my teeth
I forgot what it’s like to breathe
Rust in my throat, The room won’t stay still
Serrated flashbacks, Every one kills
She named me filth, I answered sweet
That’s how monsters teach you to eat
[Chorus]
Chains and shadows drag me back
Every scream’s a heart attack
Ripping nails into my soul
Still can’t claw out of her hole
Blood on my hands, blood on the floor
Silence screams a little more
[Verse 2]
Just lie still inside the bathwater
Her voice still coils in my chest like a stutter
It said Love me, break for me, hush for me, drown
So I sank with a smile while she pushed me down
Ropes bite in, It’s marking my skin
She never lets go, She lives within
The rage, It’s not mine, It’s built from the rot
But I’ll wear it like armor, like it or not
[Chorus]
Chains and shadows drag me back
Every scream’s a heart attack
Ripping nails into my soul
Still can’t claw out of her hold
Blood on my hands, blood on the floor
Silence screams a little more
[Bridge]
Mirror says: Liar
Flesh says: Whore
This ain’t a body
It’s a locked door
She made me a weapon
Now I aim it back
I’m not your toy
I’m your goddamn crack
[Chorus, tweaked]
Chains and shadows, let them see
Every scar is a part of me
Ripped the leash, still feel the bite
But I am the dark that survived the night
[Outro]
The leash is ash
She’s fading slow
But I still shake
when silence grows
I scream with teeth
until I’m raw
She don’t own me anymore
***
Nickie’s POV
Adam showed up to practice with a weird energy buzzing off him: tight, restless, like he was walking on a fault line.
This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.
He didn’t say much. Just set his bass down with more force than usual and pulled out a scrap of paper, crumpled and sweat-smudged like it had been clenched in his fist for too long.
He didn’t hand it to anyone. Didn’t explain. Just sat down, put on a couple of finger sleeves, plugged in, and started playing.
Four notes.
Slow. Low. Repeating.
It wasn’t flashy. It was obsessive. Like he was digging a hole with them.
Each note hit like a pulse that didn’t want to be alive.
David and I looked at each other.
We knew that sound. We knew that look.
The way Adam stared at his strings like they’d betrayed him, or maybe saved him.
David joined in first, careful not to disturb whatever was crawling out of Adam’s ribs.
His guitar bent around the bassline like it was circling prey.
I followed, light on the hi-hat, letting the groove speak before I answered.
The beat came slow, deliberate, like footsteps in a long corridor.
We looped it once. Twice.
Then Adam finally spoke.
"Been hearing this in my head all night," he said.
His voice was raw, like he hadn’t slept.
"Figured… maybe it needed words."
He set the paper down between us.
David grabbed it first. He didn’t even finish the first verse before his face changed.
Serious, like a door slamming shut.
He passed it to me without a word.
I smoothed it out and read.
"Hands tied. Jaw wired. Breath on hold."
I kept reading. And it hit.
The kind of hit you don’t brace for. Every line felt ripped out of his body, dipped in acid, and bled onto the page.
My throat tightened.
“Holy shit, Adam,” I whispered. “This isn’t just a song. This is a fuckin’ wound.”
Adam didn’t look up.
Just kept playing the same four notes, like they were the only thing that made sense.
David leaned forward, eyes locked on Adam.
I saw something tighten in David’s face.
Something sharp and silent, like he’d just read a wound only he and Adam knew how to translate.
The way he looked at Adam then… it wasn’t just protective.
It was grief, quiet and bone-deep, for everything Adam had survived to write those words.
“This is a sermon in distortion,” David said. “We build around it. Heavy. Nothing flashy… just weight.”
I nodded slowly, already hearing it.
“We let the verses suffocate. Keep it tight, coiled. But the chorus? We break the floor.”
Adam gave the smallest nod. Barely a twitch. But the grip on his bass eased just a little.
We went back in.
Built it from the riff like pouring concrete over grief.
I set the tempo: slow, with a kick like a warning shot.
David’s guitar slithered around us, sliding into place with dissonant bends that sounded like a siren in fog.
And Adam…
He opened his mouth, and his voice came out torn and terrible.
Not polished. Not practiced. Just real.
He didn’t sing the lyrics.
He exorcised them.
By the second chorus, we weren’t a band anymore.
We were something else. Something guttural and sacred and wrong.
My sticks blistered. My shoulders burned.
But I didn’t stop.
None of us did.
We finished on a single chord, let it ring into feedback while the silence came back like a slap.
The air was too still.
I wiped my face, heart hammering, mouth dry.
“This is gonna bury people alive,” I said, not even trying to sound casual.
Adam didn’t speak.
His fingers were still resting on the strings, gently this time, like they were still humming with what had just happened.
David leaned back against the wall, watching his brother like he was seeing something holy and feral all at once.
Yeah.
This wasn’t just a song.
It was the truth, with blood under its nails.
