Lyric

They cleaned the story for the Sunday page

Soft white words for a nervous age

An angel said it, a woman agreed

That’s all they tell you that you need

The night was small, the room was tight

History prefers no blood in sight

Every door that lets life through

Leaves something torn, something new

Chorus

It was the first wound, that’s how it goes

Before the crown, before the thorns

Every beginning carries a debt

The kind you never quite forget

Joseph stood where the shadows stay

A decent man with nothing to say

They say “virgin” like a sealed-up room

Even miracles don’t come sanitized

Chorus

They’ll argue heaven, they’ll argue sin

They’ll argue how it all began

But nobody ever asks who crossed the line first

— and it wasn’t Joseph