[Verse 1]
He built his world from the inside out, room by room,
Rewiring the wiring left behind in that crowded gloom,
Every tangled root he found, he held it to the light,
A man who learned the blueprint of himself through the fight,
He reads the silence others miss, feels what no one speaks,
The kind of knowing that comes from years of interior weeks,

[PreChorus]
And the harvest didn't come the year he planted the seed,
But everything he tended grew into exactly what he'd need,

[Chorus]
Brice, you are the house that holds when all the walls come down,
The quiet force that carries more than anyone around,
You were forged in rooms where fire met the careful hand,
Brice, every scar you carry is the map to where you stand,

[Verse 2]
He weighs each word before it falls, measures tone and weight,
Not from fear but from the knowledge that precision can create,
His memory keeps ledgers nobody else can see or read,
A running tab of who showed up and who planted which seed,
He offers all of himself in full or not at all,
No surface-level entry, every love has to walk the hall,

[PreChorus]
And the scales he's always balancing tip hardest toward the truth,
He spent his whole becoming trading comfort for the proof,

[Chorus]
Brice, you are the depth beneath the conversation's end,
The one who stays when staying costs, the one who will not bend,
Your devotion moves like groundwater, steady, cold, and clear,
Brice, the ones who earn your loyalty have found their footing here,

[Verse 3]
Now the days grow shorter and the angle of the light has changed,
The season asking him to count what's grown and rearranged,
What he built from excavation, clearing out the old estate,
The generational debris he chose to renegotiate,
He's not the sum of what was fractured in the early years,
He's the craftsman who made something of the rubble and the tears,

[PreChorus]
And the equinox arrives not as an ending but a door,
A threshold only opened by the one who's kept the score,

[Chorus]
Brice, you are the turn of the season finally come around,
The one who did the quiet work before the trumpets sound,
Your richness isn't loud, it's in the details others miss,
Brice, step into the fullness you were always meant for — this,

[Bridge]
He is made of every question he refused to leave alone,
Every careful reconstruction of a thing he had to own,
The table he is setting now is built on honest ground,
The feast was always coming — he just had to stick around,

[Outro]
This is your moment, Brice, the harvest at the door,
Everything you are right now is what you've always been for,