Don't Tell Me What I Can't Do

Don’t tell me… Don’t tell me… I learned to stand on bones of doubt, made faith from rooms that shut me out. I stitched a name to broken skin, and every miracle asked what I would give. If hope is a knife, it carves me true— I bleed a little light to make it through. Steal my calm, wear my grace— you can’t carry what I face. I break, I bend, I break through— don’t tell me what I can’t do. Turn my prayer into a blade— cut me deep, I won’t fade. If faith splits me into two— don’t tell me what I can’t do. Don't tell me what I can't do. Don't tell me what I can't do. You wore my face like borrowed air, (keep breathing) left me the weight and called it fair. (keep breathing) I held the line while voices lied— the cost of being whole was being tried. If destiny pulls tight, I lean into the scar, I’m lesser than a god but braver than the dark. Steal my calm, wear my grace— you can’t carry what I face. I break, I bend, I break through— don’t tell me what I can’t do. Turn my prayer into a blade— cut me deep, I won’t fade. If faith splits me into two— don’t tell me what I can’t do. I gave my breath to a promise with teeth; it loved me when I bled beneath. If you take my name, I’ll take my truth— bury the mask; let the man break through. Steal my calm, wear my grace— you can’t carry what I face. I break, I bend, I break through— don’t tell me what I can’t do. Cut me down, I still move— pain is proof that I am true. Say it loud till it cuts through— don’t tell me what I can’t do. Don't tell me what I can't do. Don't tell me what I can't do.