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Verse 1
Shopping list of hurts
“I want love, I want enough / I want more of what I've lost”
Right out the gate the narrator stacks their cravings like items on a receipt. Love, sufficiency, the stuff already gone—notice how every line starts with “I want.” That repetition feels desperate, like knocking on a locked door over and over. Yesterday keeps calling, so the past isn’t just a memory, it’s an annoying telemarketer that won’t stop. We’re in the head of someone haunted by what used to feel whole.
Theme wise this is pure longing plus self-inventory. They can name the voids but can’t fill them yet.
Chorus 1
Soul on lease
“They want my soul today / I've had it on a lease”
Here’s where it gets interesting: the soul isn’t stolen outright, it’s rented out like cheap property. That image screams exhaustion. If the world already owns pieces of you, what’s left for self-care? The refrain “Lil' ol' me / Wants to keep on cryin' on my shoulder” doubles the loneliness—crying on your own shoulder means even comfort duties are a solo gig.
The hook cements the main conflict: external pressure versus brittle self-worth.
Verse 2
Self-blame spiral
“I keep tellin' myself I'm bad / I want you out of my head”
The narrator turns the knife inward, labeling themself “bad” like a broken product. Wanting the other person out of their head hints at an obsessive loop. Then they pivot to “I wanna get my light back,” a tiny spark of hope. It’s the first time they ask for something constructive instead of just more or less of pain.
This section shows a shift from pure longing to the first glimpse of self-rescue.
Chorus 2
Stolen brightness
“That you stole from me / Let go of me”
The lease idea mutates into outright theft. Whoever “you” is, they’re holding the narrator’s light hostage. “Let go of me” feels like a fist finally slamming the table. Still, the same tear-soaked self-comfort returns, so the fight is more plea than command.
Themes of agency and possession tighten: whose life is it anyway?
Bridge
Crumbling mask
“If I cry when I laugh / Don't be surprised if I crash”
Laughter bleeding into tears signals a brittle mask about to snap. The speaker admits they “keep treatin' myself like trash,” calling out their own sabotage. It’s raw accountability. No outside villain here, just the mirror.
We hit the core theme: self-destruction masquerading as protection.
Chorus 3
Throwing insecurity out
“Throw away / Insecurity”
For the first time the chorus suggests action—tossing insecurity like old receipts. It’s slight but matters. The same lonely cry remains, yet there’s a blueprint now: purge what poisons.
The arc inches toward self-forgiveness even while stuck in the same emotional room.
Outro
Child-soldier image
“Like a child in a stroller / Only getting older / Broken like a soldier”
This closing triad is a gut punch. Child and soldier: innocence wrecked by endless battles. Rolling forward in a stroller suggests helpless momentum—life keeps moving whether or not the narrator heals. “Broken” lands as a final, brutal admission.
We end without tidy resolution, just a candid snapshot of someone caught between hope and habitual hurt. The song’s power lives in that unresolved tension—crying on your own shoulder yet still asking for light.
