To where the musical notes may lead.
To where the lyrics may start to bleed.
To where my dear hearts resides.
To where my mind continuously decides.
To every beat of the rhythm of the drum.
To every string to where fingers have strum.
To every white keys my fingers have placed.
To every black keys my fingers gave haste.

It was not written by me.
Nor did I see
a new colored hue,
to the beautiful you.

To the love songs that I have never written.
To that pain I have never eaten.
To the hands I once thought to hold.
To the smile that never can be sold.

To the love songs that I have never written:
It was never meant to be written.
It was meant to be read aloud.
It is to be courageous and proud.
It is to compose without ever knowing.
It was felt without the aid of thinking.

To the love songs I have never written.
To the love songs that I could have written.
To the love songs I knew I have spoken.
To the love songs where my heart lies broken.