Found You in Her Bed
Track 1 of Cut Throat
[ Lyrics ]
Saw your shoes beneath the sheets... Saw your shoes beneath the sheets... I had the spare key, thought I was welcome, Knocked anyway—then turned the handle. Her perfume on the hook, your jacket on the chair, Two wine glasses, one still warm from the air. You were facing her side, breathing deep, One arm under, one pulled to your chest. I didn’t move, didn’t speak— Just backed out slow, left the door just a crack. Rode down the elevator, didn’t press a floor, Stood in the lobby, couldn’t feel my arms no more. Pulled out my phone, hit record, whispered low: ‘He’s in her bed. I saw his shoes below. They’re by the nightstand, laces tucked in, Like he belongs there. Like I’m the sin.’ No tremble in my voice, no tears in the frame— Just a flat-line confession to my own name. Funny how clean the hallway looked, How your socks matched the couch, how her toothbrush was blue. I used to laugh at that—‘He hates sharing toothpaste!’ Now it’s evidence. Now it’s proof. And the joke’s not funny. The joke’s not sweet. The joke’s the life we built on a lie I didn’t see. Guitar pattern shifts slightly—sub-bass pulse enters every fourth bar Drove west on Sunset, windows up, heat on high, Tears dried fast, left salt on my cheek like a brand new try. I didn’t curse you. Didn’t call her a whore. Just played our song and let the silence roar. You said forever in this voice, soft and low, Now it’s echoing back from a place I don’t know. One promise broken, but a thousand remain— All the words I believed… just dust in the frame. Saw your shoes beneath the sheets… Saw your shoes beneath the sheets… Saw your shoes beneath the sheets… No note. No fight. No slam of the door. Just me… and the sound of trust breaking on the floor.