Glass in the coat, flame in the throat,
Night said “burn” — I said “watch close.”

Bad moon hanging like a bruise on the block,
Chain-link hymn and a deadbolt clock.
Boot smoke rising where the red dirt split,
I came through the wire with a fuse half-lit.
No soft creed in the blood I got,
Just a hard-won prayer and a hell-hot thought.
Street full of silence, sky full of lead,
I learned how to bless what was aiming at my head.

Don’t call it peace if it never knew fire.
Don’t call it grace if it never drew blood.
I got both hands on the ruin and the reverence —
That’s how a man survives the flood.

I came in carrying light that could level a room,
A match in my mercy, a gospel that blooms.
If love’s gonna live, it’ll live through the blast,
Through the smoke, through the shatter, through the furnace-black glass.
I’m no saint in white, I’m a warning made whole —
There’s mercy in the Molotov.

Saw teeth halo on a neon hiss,
Whole town leaning like it knew this risk.
Ash on the knuckles, gold in the grime,
I kept my faith ugly and it held up fine.
Some men preach sweet from a polished stage,
I drag mine raw from the bottom of rage.
If heaven came near, it came steel-toed too,
With a scar on its mouth and a name like truth.

Don’t hand me calm if it don’t hold weight.
Don’t hand me hope if it can’t walk smoke.
I got one eye on the damage, one eye on deliverance —
Both of ’em open, both of ’em woke.

I came in carrying light that could level a room,
A match in my mercy, a gospel that blooms.
If love’s gonna live, it’ll live through the blast,
Through the smoke, through the shatter, through the furnace-black glass.
I’m no saint in white, I’m a warning made whole —
There’s mercy in the Molotov.

Let the bottle sweat in my hand.
Let the shadows name what they fear.
I was never built for a quiet redemption —
Mine comes loud enough to hear.
Not to destroy for the thrill of the fire,
Not to turn grief into vanity smoke —
But to throw one hard light
through the lie and the lock
and watch what false gods choke.

I came in carrying light that could level a room,
A match in my mercy, a gospel that blooms.
If love’s gonna live, it’ll live through the blast,
Through the smoke, through the shatter, through the furnace-black glass.
I’m no saint in white, I’m a warning made whole —
There’s mercy in the Molotov.
So if the dark wants a sermon, let it kneel in the sparks —
I got mercy in the Molotov, and a fireproof heart.

Glass in the coat, flame in the throat...
Some prayers don’t whisper.
They explode.