I hold the pen and watch the night, To catch the tears before they fall. To paint the dark in shades of light, And find a meaning in it all. I am the one who weaves the thread, Of every heartbreak, love, and loss. With heavy words within the head, And carrying the lonely cross. But can I be the song instead? The quiet lines that someone keeps. The gentle words that must be read, While all the noisy city sleeps. I want to be the thing they love, And not the hand that writes it