[Verse 1]
Six forty alarm and the phone's full green,
eight hours counted like I banked a dream,
but I peel off the sheets like wet cardboard,
legs made of sand, feet can't find the floor,
coffee's on the counter, steam curling slow,
I stare at the cup like it owes me dough,
kid asks why my eyes look like a bruised plum,
I say "slept all night," but my body stays numb,
the math don't add up, eight hours, still wrecked,
something in the gears ain't clicking correct,
I did everything right, closed the laptop at ten,
so why's the tank reading empty again.
[Chorus]
Eight hours down and I'm still worn thin,
tired in a place that sleep can't get in.
Eight hours down, body won't come clean,
tired in the bones, not just in between.
[Verse 2]
So tonight I try something, nothing wild or grand,
dim the lamp, phone face-down, no scroll in my hand,
thumb finds the wind-down, a voice soft and low,
counts my breath out slow, four in, six to go,
then it quiets right down, just the sound of the rain,
nothing spoken after, no voice, just the plane
of water on glass till my shoulders unclench,
that's the whole trick, just a hush and a drench
of rain in my ears till the static gets still,
small thing, sure, but it's a start on the hill,
I'm not fixed by morning, I don't pretend that's true,
but the night feels less like static, more like something I move through.
[Verse 3]
Saturday I sleep till the sun's climbed high,
noon on the clock and I still can't open my eye,
third nap today and the grogginess clings,
like a phone stuck at eighty, won't finish charging,
I chase it with coffee, then crash by four,
energy drinks lined up by the door,
I used to think more hours would fix what's wrong,
but the numbers don't matter if the sleep ain't strong,
quality over quantity, that's the real deal,
you can clock the time and still not heal,
so I stop counting hours, start counting the deep,
start asking what's stealing the rest from my sleep.
[Bridge]
Now hear this part plain, 'cause I won't dress it pretty,
if the lassitude stays, that heavy gray-city
feeling of worn-out that won't lift by noon,
a wind-down and rain sounds ain't the whole tune.
Some tired needs a doctor, a blood test, a name,
not a hack or a playlist, that's not the same thing,
I'll say it once straight, if it drags on and on,
go sit in that office, don't guess, don't hold on.
[Chorus]
Eight hours down and I'm still worn thin,
tired in a place that sleep can't get in.
Eight hours down, body won't come clean,
tired in the bones, not just in between.
[Chorus]
Eight hours down and I'm still worn thin,
tired in a place that sleep can't get in.
Eight hours down, body won't come clean,
tired in the bones, not just in between.