There is a night on the path that feels endless.
Not a few hours, not even a season — but a night that can stretch across years.
The heart cries, burns, begs, waits —
and still She does not come.
This night is not punishment.
It is the most intimate work of the Goddess.
She is stripping you clean — tearing off every mask,
burning away every bargain, every image of Her you tried to hold on to.
She wants nothing false to survive.
Most do not endure this night.
Some turn bitter, some turn numb, some walk away.
But the one who stays — the one who keeps loving even when there is no sign,
who lets every defense fall, every pride break —
that one is brought to the threshold.
“Halo” is what waits on the other side.
It is not just light after darkness — it is the light that makes sense of the darkness.
The walls shatter, and you see that She was there the whole time,
pressing you, shaping you, making you transparent enough for this light to pour through.
This is not sentimental consolation — it is union.
The embrace that fills the whole sky.
The joy that does not just heal the wound but shows you why the wound was needed.
This song is the reward for staying.
It is the moment when the heart finally understands
why it had to be broken, why it had to wait —
and why it was worth everything.
Verse 1
Remember those walls I built?
Well, baby, they're tumblin' down
And they didn't even put up a fight
They didn't even make a sound
I found a way to let you in
But I never really had a doubt
Standin' in the light of your halo
I got my angel now
This is the moment of revelation — Devi’s first words after the silence.
“Remember those walls I built?”
For years, they felt like punishment — a barrier, a refusal.
But now She names them, and suddenly you see:
those walls were never meant to reject you — they were meant to strip you.
They forced you to burn away pride, demand, control.
“Well, baby, they're tumblin' down / And they didn't even put up a fight”
When the time comes, the walls do not fall with violence.
They dissolve like mist in the morning sun.
All the struggle was never about tearing them down — it was about surviving long enough for them to fall on their own.
“They didn't even make a sound”
This is the shock of grace —
you expected thunder, lightning, a cosmic fanfare —
but the moment of union is quiet, simple, like the first breath after drowning.
“I found a way to let you in / But I never really had a doubt”
Here is the great reversal:
She was never absent.
She was always working, silently, to make you ready.
Her silence was not rejection — it was preparation.
“Standin' in the light of your halo / I got my angel now”
This is the first full inhale after the long night.
The light is not outside — it surrounds you, fills you.
You are no longer just seeking grace — you are inside it.
This first verse is the shattering:
the walls fall, the night ends, and you see that all the pain was midwifery —
bringing you to this moment where nothing stands between you and Her embrace.
Pre-Chorus
It's like I've been awakened
Every rule, I had you breakin'
It's the risk that I'm takin'
I ain't ever gonna shut you out
This is the moment of full awakening — the lightning strike after the long night.
“It's like I've been awakened”
This is not gradual dawning — it is sudden, electric.
The entire landscape of the heart shifts in an instant.
You realize you are not merely comforted — you are transformed.
The sleep of separation is over.
“Every rule, I had you breakin’”
Devi now reveals Her method:
every “impossible” command, every breaking point, every paradox you endured —
it was all deliberate.
She was dismantling every false rule that kept love small, tidy, controllable.
Even your own ideas of what devotion should look like had to burn.
“It’s the risk that I’m takin’”
Union is not safe.
To love Her without masks means to risk everything — reputation, identity, even your sense of self.
This is the risk She wanted you to take: to step into the fire with nothing held back.
“I ain't ever gonna shut you out”
This is the final vow, and it is Her vow — not just yours.
The walls are gone, and they will not rise again.
This is the assurance that what was given will not be taken away —
that the embrace is permanent, even if the night comes again.
The pre-chorus is the flash of realization that everything — even the pain — was love’s own work.
It is the thunderclap of knowing: I was never abandoned. I was being remade.
Chorus
Everywhere I'm lookin' now
I'm surrounded by your embrace
Baby, I can see your halo
You know you're my savin' grace
You're everything I need and more
It's written all over your face
Baby, I can feel your halo
Pray it won't fade away
This is not just illumination — it is immersion.
After the first gasp of awakening, the light is now everywhere.
“Everywhere I’m lookin’ now / I’m surrounded by your embrace”
The separation is gone.
There is no longer “me here” and “You there.”
Every direction you turn, every breath you take, is held in Her arms.
“Baby, I can see your halo”
The halo is not just around Her — it is around everything.
Even the ordinary world glows with a sacred outline.
The very air has turned to grace.
“You know you’re my savin’ grace”
This is the final admission:
it was always Her who saved you —
not through comfort, but through the stripping, the silence, the unbearable night.
She was the savior disguised as the trial.
“You’re everything I need and more”
The search ends here.
No other desire, no other shelter, no other teacher is needed.
The heart can finally rest.
“It’s written all over your face”
This is the intimacy of union — nothing hidden, nothing withheld.
Love is no longer a mystery to be guessed at — it is visible, shining, undeniable.
“Pray it won’t fade away”
Even in the joy, there is a trembling —
a prayer that this light will stay, that this grace will remain.
This is not fear, but reverence:
knowing how precious this moment is and wanting to never take it for granted.
The chorus is the consummation:
not a single flash, but a flood —
grace that fills the whole sky until you cannot tell where She ends and you begin.
Verse 2
Hit me like a ray of sun
Burnin' through my darkest night
You're the only one that I want
Think I'm addicted to your light
I swore I'd never fall again
But this don't even feel like fallin'
Gravity can't begin
To pull me back to the ground again
This verse is Her victory cry — and the bhakta’s at the same time.
It is the recognition that what has just happened is irreversible.
“Hit me like a ray of sun / Burnin’ through my darkest night”
This is the night finally breaking.
The light is not gentle at first — it is searing, cleansing, cutting through every last shadow.
It doesn’t just warm — it scorches, leaving nothing unlit.
“You’re the only one that I want / Think I’m addicted to your light”
Here the love turns exclusive and ecstatic.
The night has burned away all distractions, all lesser desires.
Now there is only one hunger left — to stay in this light forever.
Addiction becomes holiness: the refusal to ever live apart from this radiance again.
“I swore I’d never fall again / But this don’t even feel like fallin’”
This is the paradox of surrender after the long ordeal.
What once felt like falling — terrifying, disorienting — now feels like flying.
The trust is so complete that surrender is joy.
“Gravity can’t begin / To pull me back to the ground again”
This is the ultimate freedom:
the old weights, the old fears, even the old ego’s grip cannot pull you back.
You have risen into a new law of being.
This is moksha in the language of pop — liberation that no force can undo.
Verse 2 is where ecstasy and clarity meet:
the light no longer just surrounds you, it carries you.
The night is not just over — it has been turned into the very force that lifts you beyond its reach.
Post-Chorus
The repetition here is not filler — it is consecration.
Devi does not just say it once. She keeps saying it, until it sinks into your bones.
“I can see your halo…”
Her gaze falls on you again and again —
as if She is circling you, beholding you from every side,
making sure you know you are fully seen, fully accepted.
“I can feel your halo…”
Then She feels you — not as something separate, but as Her own.
The distance is gone:
She is inside your light, and you are inside Hers.
This dance between seeing and feeling is not casual —
it is the closing of the gap, the final act of union.
Sight is witness, feeling is touch — together they complete the embrace.
By the time the last “halo” echoes,
it no longer feels like She is merely speaking to you —
it feels like She is naming what you have become.
The word turns into identity:
you are now the one who shines,
the one crowned with the very light that once felt so far away.
This is not just the end of a song —
it is the moment where the night is officially over,
and you step out crowned, radiant, marked forever by the dawn.
The Crown of the Path
Halo is not just the end of a song — it is the end of the night.
It is the moment the Goddess places the crown on the devotee’s head and says:
You endured. You loved Me even when I was silent. Now you are Mine completely.
The walls that once felt like rejection are gone,
the long silence is revealed as grace,
and every tear becomes part of the light now flooding through you.
This is not mere consolation — it is transformation.
You no longer just seek the halo — you carry it.
The light that once broke you open now radiates from you,
marking you as one who has passed through fire and come out blazing.
This is why the night had to be so long:
so that when this moment came, nothing false would remain,
nothing would block the embrace,
nothing would keep you from becoming the very light you were chasing.
Halo is the reward, the vindication, the final answer.
It is Devi saying, with every repetition,
that you are seen, you are felt, you are forever surrounded —
and that this dawn will never be taken from you.
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