Not Who I Was

Lyrics

[Intro]
Cold northern wind at the seam of my coat,
I mouth your name to the dark—just a frostbit note.

[Verse 1]
I kept your picture pinned to a starless wall,
slept on cracked ground while the hours learned to crawl.
Ash in my breath, ash clinging to my boots,
tracing the ruins back to their shattered roots.
You said, “We’re broken—past knives, past thread,”
and I believed it when the night ate what we said.
I talked to the silence that pressed against my skin,
and the only voice that answered was the cold northern wind.

[Pre-Chorus]
I’ve carried coals under my tongue, quiet heat,
waiting on breath to teach the ember to speak.
If you can hear me, old self—don’t call me back;
there is no door where the gate’s turned black.

[Chorus]
I don’t bend to the dark that named me empty,
I learned its weight and made it into armor.
From ash in my chest, I cast a truer frame,
first light breaking on a blade I hammered.
I won’t return to the rooms that drowned me,
I won’t fit bones through yesterday’s clothing.
Say farewell to the figure I kept running—
I’m not who I was, I’m who I’m becoming.

[Drop]
Instrumental — Solo violin leads a D minor war-melody over growling dubstep bass; halftime war drums shake the floor like marching shields.

[Verse 2]
Boot-prints stitch a road across the split ice plain,
each step a vow I hammered out of pain.
The wind still bites, but it carries my new name,
low like brass, steady like a flame.
I don’t ask the night for mercy anymore,
I make my knuckles into a working door.
Gathered the broken pieces ’til their edges glowed,
forged them together so the fracture lines showed.
Old self, I carry you the way steel carries fire—
not to keep burning, but to honor what it survived.

[Pre-Chorus 2]
The horizon thins—a pale cut, sharp and near,
iron and morning in the taste of the air.
If dark returns, let it find me standing,
hands scarred clean by the work of mending.

[Chorus 2]
I don’t bow to the names that tried to chain me,
I wore their weight and forged it into armor.
From ashes in my lungs, I built a steadier flame,
first light ringing like a bell on water.
I won’t return to the shape that failed me,
I won’t go blind into yesterday’s clothing.
Carve it in iron and blood of my running—
I’m not who I was, I’m who I’m becoming.

[Drop 2]
Instrumental — The violin screams higher, carving the melody against snarling bass; taiko stomps and live drums hit in halftime, sparks off steel.

[Bridge]
Old friend—I wanted to stitch you back,
press you into the outline the world expected.
But the cloth was torn beyond one seam,
and my hands shook under all that winter.
So I laid you down in a bed of ashes,
named every fracture, left none neglected.
I could not heal you into your old shape—
I learned to be new metal, harder than the break.

[Chant Break]
Low male war-chant, stomps, and “HEY!” shouts:
Ash to ember—HEY!
Ember to blade—HEY!
Cold wind, hold fast—HEY!
First light, cut shade—HEY!
We don’t go back—HEY!
Reforge the name—HEY!

[Final Chorus]
Now the cold northern wind drums at my shoulders,
and dawn writes fire along the mountains’ knuckles.
From ruined stones I’ve raised a fiercer altar,
where every scar rings true when the sky unbuckles.
I won’t return to the rooms that drowned me,
I won’t be folded to a smaller something.
Mark it in thunder, in snow, in drumming—
I’m not who I was, I’m who I’m becoming.
Say it again through the blaze of the morning,
I’m not who I was, I’m who I’m becoming.

[Outro]
First light sifts the ash; the cracked ground warms.
Old self, rest—I’m breathing. The wind moves on.