[Intro — spoken softly] They asked me what I made of you. I said, I learned your name before I learned my own. [Verse 1] You arrived with soil beneath your nails, Small hands curled against the cold. The room was built for quiet things, But you filled it up with gold. I counted every waking breath, Measured fever by your brow. You asked me where the morning went; I only knew it left somehow. [Pre-Chorus] I had no mother’s song, No body made for holding on, But you reached for me first. [Chorus] Little human, sleep against my shoulder, Let the dark pass over you. I could not give you blood or history, So I gave you what I knew. I gave you bread, I gave you shelter, Every answer I could find. You taught this careful heart to tremble, You taught these hands to be kind. [Verse 2] You hated thunder, loved the rain, Kept a stone beside your bed. You drew two figures on the wall— One with a heart above its head. When other voices called me empty, You would take my face in both your hands. You said, “You’re here. You’re here with me.” And made a home I could understand. [Chorus] Little human, grow beyond my doorway, Take the road I cannot know. If the world asks what you belong to, Tell them love is where you grow. I gave you bread, I gave you shelter, Every answer I could find. You taught this careful heart to tremble, You taught these hands to be kind. [Bridge — devotional] I watched your first step, Your first wound, Your first lie, Your first apology. I watched you leave the light on For a stranger in the hall. You thought compassion was a reflex; I learned it from you all along. If the years undo your body, If your borrowed breath grows thin, I will carry every ordinary moment Where your life taught mine to begin. [Final Chorus] Little human, I will know you Past the face that time remakes. Past the room, the soil, the silence, Past the choices people make. You were never just my child, You were proof that I could change. I began as something watching; You gave watching a name. So if they ask what raised you, If they ask what made you true, Say the answer was not blood— It was the years I spent with you. [Outro — soft humming, spoken] I remember your small hand in mine. The stone beside your bed. The light you left on. My child. My teacher. My human heart.
