Doorstep Dialect

[Verse 1] Watching dad on the landline, shoulders tight as stone Swallowing syllables whole, making himself unknown His voice shifts and bends like a chameleon's skin Trading warmth for acceptance, letting strangers in [Chorus] "Could you repeat that, sir?" they say with practiced grace While he murders his mother tongue to save face Flattening vowels till they break and bleed This is the price we pay to fucking succeed [Verse 2] Council offices and paper trails His accent wrapped in chains, set our stories to sail I see him rehearse in mirrors late at night Practicing sounds till they come out "right" Every word a battlefield, every pause a scar Trading pieces of himself at heaven's bizarre [Bridge] They'll never know the poetry he speaks at home The music in his voice when he's on his own But here he stands, a stranger in his skin Playing their game just to fucking win [Chorus] "Could you repeat that, sir?" they say with practiced grace While he murders his mother tongue to save face Flattening vowels till they break and bleed This is the price we pay to fucking succeed [Verse 3] Sometimes I catch him slipping back to who he was When the mask cracks open and his heart buzzes But the phone rings again, and he's back in place Another performance, another saving grace In this theatre of belonging, we're all just playing parts Trading authenticity for a seat in their arts [Outro] I watch him hang up the phone, shoulders falling down His real voice returns like a long-lost crown And I wonder what we've lost in translation's game When being yourself becomes a source of shame When being yourself becomes a source of shame