Disenchanted Apr 2026
"It's not a phase," you told your mother on the phone. But the static just answered: "You're already alone."
Here’s a quick piece inspired by the mood of that song, written in its spirit: Disenchanted
Well, I was there on the day they sold your cause for parts — the glitter, the gallows, the well-rehearsed false starts. You stood on a coffin they painted like a throne, and sang about rebellion in a voice that wasn't your own. "It's not a phase," you told your mother on the phone
The kids in the cheap seats threw roses and glass. You caught every shard, said, "At last, at last, at last." But the road was a needle, the bus a bruised vein, and the hotel rooms whispered your real name in vain. The kids in the cheap seats threw roses and glass
You wanted a fistfight, a reason, a scar. Instead you got a tour bus, a credit card, a car. The anthem you bled for got chopped for a ringtone. Now you're signing your own wristcast in a city you've never known.
So take off the eyeliner. Put the leather away. There's no glory in the gutter — just tomorrow and today. And the anthem you loved? It was always a lie. You don't get to burn out. You just learn to get by. Would you like an analysis of the original song's lyrics, or a continuation of this piece in a particular direction?
