I used to write to feel alive,

[[Verse 1] [(Distant saxophone, gentle acoustic strums, soft ambient hum) (raw, questioning)] I used to write to feel alive, To capture truths I couldn’t hide. But now it’s just a hollow sound, Lost in lines that don’t resound. I wrote for meaning, now it’s gone, Now I’m left here holding on. I used to write to feel the fight, To carve my truths in every line. But now it’s just a hollow sound, A shadow where no meanings found. Where’s the fire that used to burn? The lessons I had to learn? [Pre-Chorus] [(Soft saxophone wails, subtle guitar picking, ambient background) (reflective, frustrated)] I used to bleed in every verse, But now it feels just so rehearsed. Where did the truth go, when did it burst? [Chorus] [(Saxophone weaves through, guitar gently intensifies, slight swelling of atmosphere) (aching, yearning)] I wrote for truth, I wrote to breathe, But now the words don’t come so easily. I’m searching for something I can’t find, Chasing the meaning I left behind. I don’t know how to find my way back, To the song I lost, to the words I had. [Verse 2] [(Sorrowful saxophone, guitar softens, ambient pads) (raw, self-reflective)] I used to write for moments that shook me, The battles, the love, the pain that took me. But now it’s just the same tired sound, Empty words that don’t hit the ground. I’ve forgotten what I used to feel, Lost the music that used to heal, The reason’s changed, and it’s tearing me slow, Did I sell my soul for a fleeting show? Something inside me don’t feel like home. [Bridge] [(Mournful saxophone echoing, bare guitar, soft hum) (broken, searching)] What happened to the fire that lit my soul? To the stories that made me whole? Now it’s just empty space and air, A writer with nothing left to share. The reason’s gone, and I’m sinking in shame, Can a song still carry my oldest flame? Is it all a dream I let slip away? Nothing inside me feels okay wrote for truth, I wrote to breathe, But now the words don’t come so easily. I’m searching for something I can’t find, Chasing the meaning I left behind. I don’t know how to find my way back, To the song I lost, to the words I had. [Outro] [(Lone saxophone trail, soft guitar picking, fading atmosphere) (whispered, reflective)] I don’t know when I lost my way, Or when I let the music start to fade. It’s a battle, do I go or stay? Lost in the verses I never say. I don’t know when the meaning left, But I’ll keep writing—trying to find what’s left. (What’s left