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130 Years Later

© [Truth in the Echo], [2025]. All rights reserved. Unauthorized downloading, copying, distribution, or any other use without explicit written permission is strictly prohibited, and appropriate legal actions will be pursued. I deeply value and fiercely protect my creative efforts, which have required immense dedication, care, and time to craft. All lyrics and song concepts are 100% my original work. The instrumental music, was created using Suno AI and used under their license. Thank you sincerely for respecting and supporting original creativity. Warm regards, (Truth in the Echo)🙂 “130 Years Later” isn’t a confession. It’s a reckoning. This haunting, vulnerable ballad strips away the sensationalism—the false images of naked violence, twisted timelines, and made-for-TV murder—and replaces them with something far harder to face: truth. Lyrics below: (Verse 1) I was thirty-two, laced up tight Sunday gloves and knuckles white They stared like I was on a stage But I was just a girl in a gilded cage They asked me what the blood would prove As if grief don’t stain the hands it moves They dressed me in suspicion’s silk While the others walked away like milk (Chorus) 130 years and still I bleed From stories dressed up in your need You say I did it bare and wild As if murder makes a better child But I wore black and bore the weight Of what you needed me to hate And still, I lie beneath the lies— You never let the girl just die (Verse 2) I hear the scenes they twist for screens The naked axe, the painted screams Do you forget what shame could do In 1892? I do. My sister watched, the town looked on And no one asked what I had done That wasn’t murder. That was grace. And still you strip me for the frame (Bridge) I stood in lace, not blood, that day But you don't want the truth, do you anyway? You want the thrill, the wicked stare You never asked what it was like there No one asked how sleep felt then Or if I mourned—just “if” and “when” A dress, a blade, a well-cut lie And now I’m all you fantasize (Final Chorus) 130 years and still you play My name like it’s your matinee But I was there. I know what’s true. And none of you know what I knew You made me myth. You made me curse. And somehow, that still makes it worse. (Ending Line) I never asked to be your bedtime ghost