[Verse 1]
Tuesday, two fourteen, my badge still swears I'm fine,
fourth coffee going cold by the stapler, teeth in a part-time smile.
I color-code the calendar so nobody spots the seams,
reply-all in nine seconds flat, then stare at my hands and go quiet.
Boss calls me a machine, I laugh like that's a compliment,
gauge still reads okay even though the tank's been dry a week and then some.
I iron my voice before every call, press the wrinkle out of doubt,
nobody clocks the quiet math it takes to just get through this hour.
Lunch is a granola bar eaten standing at the filing cabinet,
I've got the posture of someone thriving and the inside of a cabinet left open.
[Chorus]
I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm running on the fumes of fine,
polished up the outside, hollow down the line.
I'm fine, I'm fine, holding up the shiniest sign,
while the needle's past the E and nobody asks me twice.
[Verse 2]
Thursday I open the work tab, find the little box for time,
no meeting required, no essay explaining why.
I tick "today," I tick "no reason," the emergency kind as well,
turns out rest doesn't need a permission slip or a bell.
I pick the calm sound option, rain against a tin roof far from here,
and the silent filler track for when I've got nothing to clear.
No words, just cello breathing slow where my voice usually goes,
small thing: I let the empty tank just sit there, nothing to show.
I didn't fix the whole week, I just un-cracked one afternoon,
let the quiet do the talking that I'd been doing for everyone.
[Bridge]
It's still hard to say it plain in a doctor's office light,
still hard to text a friend the words "I'm not alright."
But asking isn't a crack in the paint, it's just opening a door,
the tank still empties faster than the slow refill can pour,
and that part doesn't smooth out just because I said it out loud.
[Verse 3]
Friday night I sit with the lights turned low, no audience to perform for,
let my shoulders drop an inch, stop counting what the mirror's keeping score.
I used to think strong meant never running low, never showing the gauge,
now I know strong's the hand that reaches out before the empty turns to rage.
I'm learning the shape of rest, how it doesn't ask for proof or reason,
how the quiet fills the cracks that performing never could in any season.
Tomorrow I'll probably iron my voice again, press the doubt out clean,
but tonight I let the needle rest wherever it wants to be,
not chasing full, just steady, not polished, just free.
[Chorus]
I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm running on the fumes of fine,
polished up the outside, hollow down the line.
I'm fine, I'm fine, holding up the shiniest sign,
while the needle's past the E and nobody asks me twice.
[Chorus]
I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm running on the fumes of fine,
polished up the outside, hollow down the line.
I'm fine, I'm fine, holding up the shiniest sign,
while the needle's past the E and nobody asks me twice.