On the radio, your brand-new song,
I used to cry, now I sing along.
No trace of me in the lines you write,
No hidden flame in your perfect rhyme.

You once called me the sun in your skies,
Now I’m just a shadow passing by.
You sing of strangers, their fleeting eyes,
While I live free, no more goodbyes.

Your songs without me
Are perfect but unkind,
They play for every ear
But never reach the mind.
Each verse is built so neatly,
Each rhyme is smooth and smart,
Yet nothing ever lingers—
They never touch the heart.

Every note is polished, cold and clean,
A hollow echo of what might have been.
You built a kingdom with walls so tall,
But there’s no heartbeat inside at all.

I won’t chase the ghost of who you were,
My voice is stronger, my soul secure.
You found perfection, but lost the fire,
I found my freedom, my own desire.

Your songs without me
Are perfect but unkind,
They play for every ear
But never reach the mind.
Each verse is built so neatly,
Each rhyme is smooth and smart,
Yet nothing ever lingers—
They never touch the heart.

Maybe someday you’ll understand,
Love can’t be crafted by a steady hand.
It burns in chaos, it scars, it bleeds,
Not in your flawless symphonies.

I’ll keep singing where the wild hearts go,
Where broken edges still dare to show.
Your art is perfect, but I don’t care,
’Cause real love’s messy—and I was there.

Your songs without me
Are perect but unkind,
They play for every ear
But never reach the mind.
Each verse is built so neatly,
Each rhyme is smooth and smart,
Yet nothing ever lingers—
They never touch the heart.