[Instrumental intro], [Big dramatic spy-movie sound] [Verse 1] I tap a note like a match to flame, Midnight thoughts with no true name. Some tunes are born from joy or pain, But this one? Just came. No crowd to please, no stage to fill, No polished hook, no record deal. Just me and the notes, chasing a feel— My own cathartic reel. [Chorus - First Variant] It don’t have to be clever, don’t have to be clean, Sometimes I write just to let off steam. Could be depression or anxiety, Or just plain old neurotic curiosity. Some songs you sing to the world outside, Some you keep where your secrets hide. But oh, that rhythm still gets through— Even if it’s only meant for you. [Verse 2] There’s a calm when the tension bends, Like jazz—it breaks, it mends. I scribble a phrase that might not end, But in the writing, I transcend. My inner thoughts beguile the fool, Even when they kick like a stubborn mule. Each line’s a thread you can't deny— Music is freedom, song’s no lie. [Chorus Variant 2] It don’t have to shimmer, don’t have to shine, It just has to echo from someplace mine. Could be a laugh, could be a bruise, Could be a rhythm I didn’t choose. Some songs you craft with a crowd in mind, Some you write just to rewind. But oh, that riff still plows on through, Even if it’s only meant for you. [Verse 3] Art was born to stir the soul, To make you feel, to make you whole. Good art asks what lies beneath, Great art can change your core beliefs. The greatest art can shift the tide, Can crack the walls we hide inside. Don’t fault the artist, don’t fault the piece, It’s the subject that beckons one to release. [Chorus Final Variation] It don’t have to shimmer, don’t have to shine, It just has to echo from someplace mine. Could be a laugh, could be a bruise, Could be a rhythm I didn’t choose. Some songs are shaped for the grand marquee, Some are whispers you must set free. But oh, that sound loops in your head, Even if it’s leaning into the red. [Outro] Every voice starts rough, unsure, Off the beat, and far from pure. But leave it alone, and you just might find, A harmless tune with a life behind. So let it be, and imagine a time, Every little thing, without sorrow or crime.
