I lift you to my shoulder, your tremble climbs into a rise. A fragile soul, a little bolder, my hands turn warm and hold the sky. I hear your heartbeat in the timber, your quiet breath beneath my chin. And every note turns soft and tender when I let your voice come in. You’re small, but you wake me up, a whispered hymn, one clear note. Come to me, my little sweetheart, I’ll stroke your strings, don’t cry tonight. In my arms you shine so steady, your gentle glow cuts through the room. When I hold you close and steady, your sweetest tone sets my soul free. Come to me, my little sweetheart - and let your vibe flow into me. Your wooden skin, smooth and slender, answers every touch I give. A lullaby turns warm and tender, reminding me why I still live. The bow slides over you so lightly, a feather skimming through the air. And when you sing, so pure, so bright, the room goes still as if in prayer. You’re small, but you wake me up, a whispered hymn, one clear note. Come to me, my little sweetheart, I’ll stroke your strings, don’t cry tonight. In my arms you shine so steady, your gentle glow cuts through the room. When I hold you close and steady, your sweetest tone sets my soul free. Come to me, my little sweetheart - and let your voice flow into me. If heaven listens when you’re crying, I’ll hold you through the shake and strain. And when your trembling fades to silence, your melody stays in my veins. You are my violin, my fragile wonder – pure heartbeat, emotional thunder.
