Crown in the Fire
by @manuel78 on Manuel
View my bio on Blurt.media: https://blurt.media/c/manuel78 
lyrics below by me plus lyric generator
- The Crown in the Dark
story based off lyrics made with Ai
The silence after the storm was the loudest sound Leo had ever heard. It wasn't an absence of noise, but the ringing aftermath of a final, shattering crash. He sat on the floor of his now-empty apartment, back against the wall, surrounded by the ghostly outlines where furniture used to be. A single, naked bulb swung slightly from the ceiling, casting long, dancing shadows. It was over. The partnership—"Keaton & Rhodes," the letterhead now just so much kindling—was dissolved. His former friend and partner, Silas, had executed the corporate coup with surgical precision, leveraging Leo's trusting nature against him, leaving him with nothing but debt and a shattered reputation. The love of his life, Mara, had looked at the wreckage, at the man she no longer recognized buried beneath the stress and betrayal, and had walked away, her suitcase wheels clicking a final rhythm down the hall.
The devil tried to break me down. The thought wasn't melodramatic. It felt true. The devil hadn't been a person, but a confluence of them—a series of betrayals so complete it felt mythological. It had been a year of smiling knives and whispered lies. Knocked me down into the ground. He was underground. Buried. The life he’d built was a tomb above him. Tossed me into the darkness. This was it. The darkness of a future with no map, of a present with no light. He let the blackness wash over him, not fighting it. He sat in it for days, maybe weeks. Time had become granular and meaningless.
But in that absolute dark, a strange thing happened. With everything external stripped away—the title, the relationship, the status—he was left with only the raw material of himself. And he found, to his own shock, that it was not nothing. It was scarred, it was tired, but it was solid. One morning, or maybe it was night, he pushed himself up from the floor. He didn't feel victorious. He felt like a miner finally seeing a pinprick of light after a cave-in. But he was moving towards it. But i came out with a crown on my head. It wasn't a crown of jewels or gold. It was heavier. It was a crown of knowing. Knowing he could be stripped of everything, thrown into the pit, and still choose to climb. The weight of it settled on his brow, a somber, hard-won dignity.
He found a smaller space, a studio with a view of an alley and a stubborn patch of sky. He got a job, not in sleek boardrooms, but in a bustling sound studio, running cables and brewing coffee for engineers. It was honest work. It paid his rent. And it was here, in the hum of amplifiers and the glow of mixing boards, that he began to rebuild. He remembered the whispers, the pitying looks from old acquaintances who crossed the street to avoid him.
They thought they had an easy mark. Silas had seen a dreamer, a man who led with his heart, and had mistaken it for softness. The others, the fair-weather friends, saw the collapse and assumed it was permanent. But baby, i showed them. He showed them not with grand pronouncements or revenge, but with the quiet, daily act of not disappearing. He showed up. He learned the soundboard. He started composing again, not for clients, but for himself—raw, instrumental pieces that held all the grief and grit of the last year. Messing with me backfired for them. Their betrayal had not ended him; it had forged him into something leaner, sharper, more discerning. Their cruelty had been the fire that burned away everything that wasn't essential.
A rhythm returned to his life, not the frantic, performative beat of his old life, but a steady, tribal pulse of survival and creation. I'm not that easy to knock down to my knees. He’d been on his knees. In the empty apartment. In the dark. But he hadn't stayed there. I always come back swingin'. His swing now was different. It wasn't a wild punch of anger. It was the precise, disciplined swing of a craftsman shaping his new life, note by note, day by day.
He began to carve out a space of profound peace. His studio became a sanctuary. He painted the walls a deep, calming blue. He had a strict policy, born of brutal experience. When old drama tried to seep back in—a guilt-laden text from an enabler of Silas, a rumor relayed by a gossiping acquaintance—he had a new, clear boundary. His internal voice, once full of doubt, now spoke with clean, rhythmic certainty.
So watch yourself before i wreck you. It was a warning to the ghosts of his past, and to any new chaos that dared approach. He wouldn't engage in their wars. He would simply dismantle their access to him. This is a drama-free zone. His home, his mind, his creative space were sovereign territory. Keep your mess in your own zone. He had no interest in their narratives, their excuses, their tangled webs. Don’t bring it to mine, don’t waste my time. His time was his most precious currency now, and he spent it only on things that built him up, not tore him down. Or i’ll knock you back into your comfort zone. And his method of "knocking back" was simple, elegant, and absolute: complete, silent disengagement. A blocked number. A deleted message. A turned back. He would return their toxicity to sender, unanswered.
A year after the darkness, he saw Silas. It was at a busy downtown crosswalk. Their eyes met across the crowd. Silas looked older, harried, still clutching the kingdom he’d stolen, which seemed to weigh on him like a lead cloak. Leo felt nothing. No rage, no thirst for justice. Just a cool, calm detachment. He didn't cross the street. He didn't look away. He simply offered a small, neutral nod, as if acknowledging a vaguely familiar face, and then turned his attention to the walk signal.
Have a nice day, stay where you lay. The thought was a quiet benediction and a dismissal. He wished Silas no ill will, but he wished him absolutely no part of his life. Till you can’t see me anymore. He turned his back and melted into the flow of the crowd, leaving the past exactly where it belonged—behind him. Goodbye for now. Gonna go anyhow. He was already gone. He had a session to run, a melody in his head, a patch of sky to look at from his own, quiet window.
He walked home, the city sounds a pleasant white noise. The frantic energy of his comeback had mellowed into a deep, steady strength. He unlocked the door to his sanctuary, the quiet welcoming him.
He sat at his modest keyboard, his fingers resting on the cool keys. The struggle was over. The crown of knowing was his to wear, not as a trophy, but as a part of him. The final, gentle thought drifted through him as the last echoes of the day faded.
You thought i’d break. And he had. Completely.
But i rose again.Not to the same height, but from a deeper place.
Not from pride.Pride was a brittle thing, shattered long ago.
But strength within.A strength he hadn't known was there, waiting in the dark, forged in the breaking, and proven in the slow, steady work of building something real, one true note at a time. The crown was quiet. It was his. And it was enough.
- lyrics crown in the fire
Intro:
the devil tried to break me down
knocked me down into the ground
tossed me into the darkness
but i came out with a crown on my head
Verse 1:
they thought they had an easy mark
but baby, i showed them
messing with me backfired for them
i'm not that easy to knock down to my knees
i always come back swingin'
Chorus:
so watch yourself before i wreck you
this is a drama-free zone
keep your mess in your own zone
don’t bring it to mine, don’t waste my time
or i’ll knock you back into your comfort zone
Verse 2:
have a nice day, stay where you lay
till you can’t see me anymore
goodbye for now
gonna go anyhow
Outro:
you thought i’d break
but i rose again
not from pride
but strength within