A song does not change the world, it changes the one who sings.

[Intro: soft spoken] The world did not change. But I was no longer the same as before. [Verse 1] An old note in the corner of the desk, round letters I had skimmed past. On any other day, I'd walk on by — but today, from there, a fire caught. Just a small mark, a little night, sleeping, called by no one. Not a voice, yet it became a voice, pressing my chest, behind the name. [Pre-Chorus 1] It is not a trivial thing, yet it starts from trivial things. When a mere mark just barely touches you, meaning quietly opens its eyes. [Chorus 1] A song does not change the world, it changes the one who sings. A changed voice softly reaches out, and meaning that slept awakes. You don't have to look at me — look inside your own self. Something that still has no name is quietly ringing now. [Verse 2] A wall the other side had built — that's what I believed, and there I stood. But it was my own palm that ached, the hand that gripped the fence's stake. To be here does not mean to stay silent — so I lace my shoes again. Before I move the world, I moved this chest of mine, alone. [Pre-Chorus 2] Each time I set a single note, it becomes a road for someone's tomorrow. Nothing grand, however small — as much as I moved, I am here. [Chorus 2] A song does not change the world, it changes the one who sings. A changed voice reaches out to you, letting wind into a shuttered window. You don't have to believe in me — look at your own pain. Something not yet able to cry is quietly ringing now. [Bridge: quiet, intimate] Only the useless things, I couldn't throw away — I held them close. If it were useful, it'd be a tool; because it was useless, it was a flower. More than a night that hides a little behind too many words, I was waiting for a morning that hands you much through a little song. [Final Pre-Chorus] With no passion, I rise to my feet. There was nothing noble here at all. Even a small flame, if you don't put it out — just by being, the dark comes undone. [Final Chorus] A song does not change the world, it changes the one who sings. A changed voice reaches out to you, and the same world shifts its color. A song does not change the world, yet still, it touches the world. Each time the one who sang is changed, what was sleeping rises up. You don't have to look at me — look inside your own self. Something that still has no name is surely ringing now. [Outro: softly spoken] The world did not change. But I was no longer the same as before. Look — you were there all along.