Verse 1 He’s got sixty‑odd years of stories, But none with a hand in his own. He’s penned every kind of heartbreak, Though he’s never felt one alone. So he sits with a screen in the twilight, Asking questions he can’t name, Trying to write about passion Without ever touching the flame. Chorus So he borrows a heart from the wires, Lets the circuits imagine the fire. Every line is a guess, Every rhyme a desire— For a feeling he’s never been part of. Still he sings like he knows what it means, A songwriter chasing a dream, Writing love with a borrowed heart. Verse 2 He hums melodies soft in the kitchen, Like someone might answer his tune. He’s learned how to rhyme “forever” With “moonlight” and “June” and “the room.” But the truth is a quiet admission: He’s a stranger to all he creates. So he feeds the machine his longing, And it hands him back something like fate. Chorus So he borrows a heart from the wires… Bridge Maybe love is a chord he can’t reach, Or a lesson no one ever taught. But he keeps on writing these songs For a life that he never got. Final Chorus So he borrows a heart from the wires… And maybe one day he’ll feel what he sings— Till then he’s a man with a dream, Writing love with a borrowed heart.
