What I write, what you read
There're poems to sing inside me
I get stuck and never reach the end
Of what the heart feels
And one line doesn't make the song
About what makes you smile
It's not because it's English
That it's harder to feel
There're poems that don't fit on paper
They stay trapped in the pen
They stay inside the drawer
While they sleep and dream of being song
Of what the heart feels
And one line doesn't make the song
Of what the heart feels
And one line doesn't make the song
And one line doesn't make the song