Lacquer Line

[Verse 1]
Ink blooms a shadow, quiet on the page,
My fingers trace the past, across a fading stage.
The city outside, a distant, muffled hum,
While silent stories, delicately become.

[Chorus]
This letter, a solace, never meant to mend,
Just for the weaving, a thread that will not send.
A quiet pattern, only I can see.

[Verse 2]
Each practiced stroke, a stitch in time unwound,
A fragrant memory, without a spoken sound.
The scent of paper, like old lacquer wood,
Holding thoughts unsaid, misunderstood.

[Bridge]
Sometimes I reach for voices, across the sea,
But words get tangled, in what used to be.
So this quiet ritual, my hands recall,
A whisper on the page, catching before it falls.

[Outro]
A silk knot untied, on a silent day,
Just ink and paper, weaving light away.