Verse 1 Since I was young, I chased the sound Of hidden worlds beneath the ground, I built my homes from paper skies, And gave my lonely thoughts a voice. At night I wrote till candles died, Then laid my pages by my side, Like sleeping children, safe and warm, Beneath the silence before dawn. Pre-Chorus But morning came with empty hands, A quiet room, untouched white lands, No trace of every line I knew— As if the words had fallen through. Chorus My pages turned white in the middle of the night, Every dream I wrote disappeared from sight, Then life took my hand and whispered, “Start again— Write the tears, write the laughter, write the faces of men.” Now I don’t borrow stars to make my stories shine, I gather broken moments and I turn them into lines, I fill every page, every wound, every light, With the ink of my heart… with the ink of life. Verse 2 For seven mornings, one by one, My words were gone before the sun, I searched the desk, I searched the floor, I searched the shadows by the door. I kept the secret locked inside, Afraid they’d call me lost or blind, So I sat still with all my fear And listened to the silence near. Pre-Chorus Then in that silence, clear and deep, A thought awoke from broken sleep: “The world is full of untold names— Go find the truth inside their flames.” Chorus My pages turned white in the middle of the night, Every dream I wrote disappeared from sight, Then life took my hand and whispered, “Start again— Write the tears, write the laughter, write the faces of men.” Now I don’t borrow stars to make my stories shine, I gather broken moments and I turn them into lines, I fill every page, every wound, every light, With the ink of my heart… with the ink of life. Verse 3 I saw a father in the rain, A bag of bread, a face of pain, One hand held tight a child’s small hand, The other held his broken plans. The child was laughing, running free, Too young to know what burdens be, And in that walk beneath the gray, A thousand stories found their way. Bridge The words were never gone from me, They only asked my eyes to see, Not every truth is dressed in gold, Some live in hands grown tired and old. The deepest songs are not invented, They’re found where human hearts are tested, In every scar, in every fight, There is a spark that asks for light. Final Chorus My pages turned white in the middle of the night, So I could learn to write the world in truer light, Now life takes my hand and tells me, “Start again— Write the lost, write the hopeful, write the hearts of men.” I don’t need a distant sky to make my stories rise, The universe is breathing in a stranger’s tired eyes, And I will write till every darkness learns to shine, With the ink of my heart… With the ink of life. Outro If truth is sometimes stranger than a dream, Then let my pen become its voice between
