Lyrics

They said love should fit a frame, hang quiet on a wall,
Sunday-smile, same last name, no thunder when it falls.
But we were lightning in the rain, bright against the rules,
Hands that didn't ask permission, hearts that don't play school.

They measure what they fear by who we're holding,
They bless what looks like them and call it holy—
But we know something older than their warnings…

Demons at the door, knocking like a choir,
Singing "you're not right" to smother out the fire.
Say what you want, we've heard it all before—
Love doesn't ask for uniforms.
Demons at the door, chanting what we're not,
Counting all the lines they think we should have crossed.
Say what you want, we'll love a little more—
Let 'em howl outside; we don't open anymore.

They tally rings and birthdays, skin and sacred names,
They weigh our quiet kitchens like they're courtrooms all the same.
But they don't hear our language, the one beneath our skin—
The heartbeat in the hallway that keeps pulling us back in.

They call it "wrong" because it isn't theirs,
But truth survives a thousand little stares—
And we've got light that outlives every flare.

Demons at the door, knocking like a choir,
Singing "you're not right" to smother out the fire.
Say what you want, we've heard it all before—
Love doesn't ask for uniforms.
Demons at the door, chanting what we're not,
Counting all the lines they think we should have crossed.
Say what you want, we'll love a little more—
Let 'em howl outside; we don't open anymore.

Let 'em throw their stones—our house is made of thunder,
Let 'em write their laws—we live beneath them, under.
Let 'em dim the sky—we know where dawn begins,
On the breath between your "stay" and my "come in."

If we fracture, let it be into truth, not into fear,
If we burn, let it be like stars, not like the bridges they steer.
If we fall, let it be into arms that never kept score—
Every battle we don't fight for them is peace we keep for more.

Demons at the door, knocking like a choir,
Singing "you're not right"—we answer with a fire.
Say what you want, we've heard it all before—
Love isn't made to fit your form.
Demons at the door, chanting what we're not,
Counting all the lines—until the counting stops.
Say what you want, we'll love a little more—
Keys on the table, lock on the door.

Let the night keep talking while we breathe in the quiet,
Two rebels in a room where the world can't riot.
They can name it sin, strange, foolish, or new—
We'll name it home—and keep choosing it, too.