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Let Me Go

It was born at 4:12 a.m., when the club was emptying out and all that was left were tired lights and the sweet smell of smoke hanging in the air. She steps outside, her heart still running at 125 BPM, and realizes it’s not anger anymore—it’s clarity. “Let me go” isn’t a plea; it’s a soft but final command, the line you repeat so you won’t turn back. The piano in the breakdown is that one quiet minute where you look in the mirror and choose yourself; then the drop comes back in, and the gospel choir feels like a blessing: you’re not losing someone—you’re finding your way home.