[Verse 1] There are books I’ll never write, songs I’ll never hear complete, systems I can almost picture, worlds that die inside of me. Every year the list gets longer while the calendar gets thin. Creation taught me endless futures. Time decides which ones get in. [Chorus] I could live a hundred lifetimes and still leave work undone. There will always be a project waiting after I am gone. That used to make me restless. Now it almost makes me smile. Maybe meaning isn’t finishing. Maybe meaning is the while. [Verse 2] I wanted to build everything, teach everything I knew, leave enough strange little signals for someone else to follow through. [Bridge] So if the last page cuts me off mid-sentence, mid-design, I hope somebody finds the fragments and builds something beyond mine. [Final Chorus] There are books I’ll never write, but that doesn’t make them waste. Some dreams exist to pull us forward, not to ever be replaced.
