Verse 1
They laid me on the table like a game on Sunday afternoon,
Said we love you, said we’ll fix you, said we’ll make you fit the room.
Little blades of good intention shining gentle in the light,
Every cut a quiet promise: we are doing this for right.
I was crying, I was shaking, I was begging them to stop,
But they smiled like careful surgeons trimming something from the crop.
Pieces falling to the hardwood, soft and red against the grain
No one seemed to hear the screaming coming from the frame.
Pre-Chorus
They said, this one doesn’t match the picture on the box,
And the scissors sang.
Chorus
So I’m trying to make a picture from the pieces that remain,
Pressing jagged edges together while they’re dripping in the pain.
On the floor the missing pieces still are bleeding where they fell,
But I’m building something whole from this unfinished living shell.
Every corner torn and trembling, every edge a wounded seam
Still I’m forcing them together, trying hard to make a dream.
Verse 2
They lined up down the hallway with their love inside their hands,
Each one bringing tiny changes, tiny, careful, helpful plans.
“Just a little here,” they whispered, “just a piece we have to trim,”
And the puzzle made of breathing flesh grew smaller at the rim.
Some pieces learned to whisper, some learned never how to speak,
Some were swept into the corners with the dust beneath their feet.
Still they called it kindness, still they said it made me strong
While the picture on the table slowly forgot my song.
Pre-Chorus
They said, now you’re getting closer to the person you should be,
And the scissors sang again.
Chorus
So I’m trying to make a picture from the pieces that remain,
Pressing jagged edges together while they’re dripping in the pain.
On the floor the missing pieces still are bleeding where they fell,
But I’m building something whole from this unfinished living shell.
Every corner torn and trembling, every edge a wounded seam
Still I’m forcing them together, trying hard to make a dream.
Bridge
Listen close
You can hear the pieces crying where they lie across the floor.
They remember what the picture looked like
Before.
Little voices in the splinters, little echoes in the grain
Every one a part of me
That they carved away in love.
Final Chorus
Still I’m trying to make a picture from the pieces that remain,
Hands are shaking, edges grinding, leaving red across the frame.
All the missing parts are watching from the cold and dusty floor,
And I wonder if the puzzle can be whole anymore.
But the pieces that are left of me are stubborn, fierce, and true
Bleeding, broken, still connecting
Trying hard
To make
Me.
