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"I Am the Author" is not rage. It is a resolution. Not revenge. But reclamation. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Lyrics: ~~~~~~~~~ [Verse 1] The ink has dried, the letter’s flown, No farewell kiss, no final moan. I stood beside the rose so red, Now wilted, trampled, all but dead. You called me Belle, you shaped my name, Like clay to mold, to praise, to blame. But stories bend when hands grow bold— And I was never yours to hold. [Verse 2] You thought devotion was my fate, A bookish girl to domesticate. The prince with pride, the hunter's glare— Both blind to poison in my hair. You read my silence as my shame, But silence speaks a different name. Not obedience, not grace— But space... to write my own damn place. [Chorus] So here I stand where stories end, The author now, not just the pen. No damsel, daughter, dream deferred— I wrote the world I always feared. The fire you lit, the walls you raised, Burned pages of the lives you praised. And every lie you thought was true? That was my story. I wrote you. [Verse 3] My father sobs, the village burns, The truth still twists, the rumor churns. I sent no sword, I raised no blade, Just folded sorrow, gently laid. A trembling hand, a whispered fear— Enough to make the faithful rear. They storm the gates with torch and cry, But I am the storm beneath the sky. [Verse 4] You fought for thrones, for blood, for pride, But I was there—on every side. In sermons preached, in children’s cries, In every doubt beneath their skies. You never saw the strings I tied, The quiet pulse that stoked the tide. No fanfare marked the shift, the fall— Just silence... answering my call. [Chorus] So here I stand where stories end, The author now, not just the pen. No damsel, daughter, dream deferred— I wrote the world I always feared. The fire you lit, the walls you raised, Burned pages of the lives you praised. And every lie you thought was true? That was my story. I wrote you. [Bridge] O-o-oh… The girl you knew? She never was. Just ink and pause, and cause and clause. A sentence built with measured breath, A life rewritten after death— Of innocence. Of being seen As someone else’s lovely queen. But queens don’t write… And I… I am. the. pen. [Outro] The books are closed. The tales are told. You wanted fire? I gave you flame. You called my name? I changed the game. I am the author. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Original Lyrics by Aurora Dust-Wulf AI-generated by the Suno AI app