Blue lights in the rain, choir in the wire,
Whole city hum like a sermon on fire.

I came up where the saints had a side-eye stare,
Where the prayers got polished but the pain stayed there.
Same cracked pews, same dust on the hymn,
Same hands lifted high with a little blood in ‘em.
I don’t talk clean just to sound redeemed,
I seen too much cost tucked under nice things.
Gold cross chain on a chest full of static,
Truth hit heavy when the whole block had it.
Cold wind, squad cars, somebody’s mama awake,
Somebody askin’ God what He let that take.
And the preachers say “peace” with a lockjaw smile,
While the young learn grief by the file and the mile.

I heard heaven don’t move for free.
Every blessing got a bruise on it.
Every open door got a hinge that screams.
That’s why the sirens sound like music.

Let ‘em ring for the saved if they still got scars,
If they still look back when they pass those cars.
If grace came late, but it came that night,
Then let that red-blue wash hit the halo right.
I don’t need a clean sky to believe what I saw —
Just a little truth left standing when the false light falls.

I seen boys wear pride like body armor,
Talk big through the hurt just to keep it from harmin’.
Seen women hold whole homes with a crack in the voice,
Still make room at the table like pain was a choice.
And the city got memory longer than law,
Every mural, every corner, every name on a wall.
I carry mine low where the ribs stay sore,
Where the faith ain’t pretty but it still wants more.
No free heavens, no easy release,
Just a hard-earned mercy in the mouth of the beast.
If I bow, it’s real. If I speak, it’s weighed.
I don’t throw “amen” where the debt ain’t paid.

I heard heaven don’t move for free.
Every blessing got a bruise on it.
Every open door got a hinge that screams.
That’s why the sirens sound like music.

Let ‘em ring for the saved if they still got scars,
If they still look back when they pass those cars.
If grace came late, but it came that night,
Then let that red-blue wash hit the halo right.
I don’t need a clean sky to believe what I saw —
Just a little truth left standing when the false light falls.

Don’t talk to me about glory
like it didn’t pass through smoke.
Don’t hand me silver language
for a neighborhood that choked.
If the light is real, it stays
when the cameras and the choir leave.
If the light is real, it walks
where the mourning don’t get to sleep.

So let ‘em ring for the saved and the barely-held-together,
For the ones who kept faith through the siren weather.
For the mothers, the ghosts, the names we repeat,
For the cracked front steps and the candlelit streets.
I don’t need a white robe dream or a gold gate call —
Just a little truth left standing when the false light falls.
That’s sirens for the saved.
That’s sirens for the saved.

Blue lights in the rain, choir in the wire...
Some nights mercy sound like a city on fire.