[INTRO — clean arpeggio, soft bass, brushed drums, reverb like an empty room, warm and open] [VERSE 1] There was a man who spent his whole life fixing things that weren't broken. He oiled the hinges. He straightened the frames. He learned to hear a creak before it made a sound. And one day someone asked him: "Who takes care of you?" He didn't answer. Not because he didn't know. Because he had never thought to ask. [CHORUS — gentle, like a thought that repeats itself] And that's the thing about care — you can give it away a hundred times, but if you don't keep a little, the giver starts to fade. [VERSE 2] He started small. A cup of tea that he finished. A walk that wasn't a shortcut. A night where he didn't check the door three times before sleeping. It felt strange at first. Like borrowing from himself. [CHORUS] And that's the thing about care — you can give it away a hundred times, but if you don't keep a little, the giver starts to fade. [BRIDGE — spoken, like a thought said out loud, close to the mic] He didn't become someone new. He just stopped pretending that he didn't need to be looked after too. [FINAL CHORUS — warm, like a closing page] And that's the thing about care — you can give it away a hundred times, but if you don't keep a little, the giver starts to fade. [OUTRO — arpeggios fade, a single note held, then silence]
