[Verse 1] Dear Santa, I write when the year exhales, when clocks loosen their grip and the city forgets to rush. Windows glow like quiet thoughts. Somewhere, a child is rehearsing a wish. I’m rehearsing a sentence that hasn’t found its breath yet. [Pre-Chorus] This letter has no ribbon, only space where ideas pass through. [Chorus] Dear Santa, I don’t want gifts this year. Nothing that needs a place on a shelf. Dear Santa, I’m asking for what arrives uninvited the moment a song begins to speak. [Verse 2] Dear Santa, I don’t need more than this page, more than a voice learning its own shape. I’m searching for the quiet push, the unseen hand that turns a thought into sound. Let me hear what waits behind the silence. Let me trust the first note, even unfinished. Somewhere between doubt and patience, a melody is choosing me. [Pre-Chorus] If anything still moves without being called, let it move through this. [Chorus] Dear Santa, I don’t want gifts this year. No weight, no shine, no proof. Dear Santa, leave me the courage to begin again, and the clarity to follow what appears. [Bridge] And if you pass by other windows tonight, pause where creation happens quietly. Hands open, unsure, still trying. Leave them the same gift. A sudden knowing. A line that arrives fully formed. The feeling that the next song is possible. [Break] Dear Santa… Dear Santa… Dear Santa… [Final Chorus] Dear Santa, don’t bring me gifts this year. Bring me the reasons to create. Dear Santa, let music find its way through people, and give our days a pulse of meaning. [Outro, spoken] Dear Santa, Fill my life with melodies.
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