[Intro] [Verse 1] I wrote it for a room of light, For painted trees and borrowed skies, For actors stepping through the night, With other people's words and lives. The curtain breathed, the floorboards spoke, A whispered cue, a waiting hand. Then laughter rose like candle smoke And vanished where the shadows stand. I thought it only served the play, A little theme to come and go. I never dreamed that years away I'd hear it call me soft and low. [Pre-Chorus] One note, then silence. One breath, then air. I wrote it for a moment— Yet somehow it stayed there. [Chorus] Play it as you remember, Softly, as you like. Let that old stage wake again Inside the falling night. Play it for the ones who left, For voices time has taken. I wrote a little melody— And found it had awakened Every room, every face, every hand I left behind. The piano keeps the memory Long after it leaves the mind. [Verse 2] I still can see the curtain rise, The actors waiting in the wings, The painted forest, lovers' eyes, The foolishness that Shakespeare brings. Yet underneath the wit and play, I heard another kind of sound: The ache of things that cannot stay, The joy that knows it won't be found. Perhaps that is why every chord Fell softer than the scene required. A comedy stood on the boards— But something lonelier was inspired. [Pre-Chorus] One chord, then silence. One light, then grey. The players leave, the years move on— But music doesn't fade that way. [Chorus] Play it as you remember, Softly, as you like. Let that old stage wake again Inside the falling night. Play it for the ones who left, For voices time has taken. I wrote a little melody— And found it had awakened Every room, every face, every hand I left behind. The piano keeps the memory Long after it leaves the mind. [Piano-Led Passage] [Verse 3] Years gathered quietly around it. Other stages came and went. Other stories filled the darkness, Other melodies were spent. Then I returned to what I'd written, Small forgotten scraps of sound, And every little piece became A door to somewhere I had found. Not history. Not photographs. Not names arranged upon a page. Just memory breathing through the keys, Still waiting on an empty stage. [Bridgeh] Perhaps this is what music does. It keeps what hands cannot. A glance. A room. A voice once heard. A face we half forgot. A diary written without ink, Where silence speaks between each line. I press a key— and suddenly another life is touching mine. [Build] So let the old theatre breathe. Let every empty chair remain. Let every pause become a door. Let every chord recall a name. I need not make it louder. I need not make it grand. Some memories grow more beautiful The less we understand. [Final Chorus] Play it as you remember, Softly, as you like. Let that old stage wake again Inside the falling night. Play it for the ones who left, For voices time has taken. A little song can hold a world Long after it has faded. And when the final curtain falls, When every lamp goes blind, The piano keeps remembering What people leave behind. I wrote it for a single play. I thought its life was small. But years have taught me one soft phrase Can somehow hold it all. [Outro:] The room is gone. The stage is bare. The players are no longer there. But I touch one key... and for a while, I hear their voices. I see them smile. [Softly] As I remember. As you like it. [End]
