There was a box of broken glass, Colors scattered, quiet and small, Nobody knew what they were for, Just pieces resting against the wall. The light was always in the room, Waiting there behind the door, It didn’t ask the glass to change, It just kept shining like before. Then something turned—so soft, so slow, A hand, a breath, I’ll never know, But every edge that used to cut Became a shape I didn’t expect. Oh, the kaleidoscope, the kaleidoscope, One gentle turn and now I see, The pieces that I couldn’t hold Are turning into symmetry, Red and gold and deepest blue, Nothing wasted, nothing lost, The kaleidoscope, the kaleidoscope, Found the pattern in the cost. I used to think the breaking was The only story left to tell, But breaking’s just the glass admitting It was never meant to sit so still. Now look—it’s spinning into flowers, Now look—it’s spinning into stars, The very cracks I used to hide Are drawing light from where they are. Turn it once and watch it change, Turn it twice, it’s new again, Nothing here was ever wrong, It was only waiting for the song. Oh, the kaleidoscope, the kaleidoscope, One gentle turn and now I see, The pieces that I couldn’t hold Are turning into symmetry, Red and gold and deepest blue, Nothing wasted, nothing lost, The kaleidoscope, the kaleidoscope, Found the pattern in the cost. Every broken color found its place, Every broken color found its place, The pieces never knew they were becoming light, The pieces never knew they were becoming light.
