[Verse]
I tried to write a song that no one ever wrote before.
But every line I thought was mine had already walked through someone else’s door ...

A ballad for the moon? ... Been done.
A hymn to morning rain? ... Outrun.

With pen in hand, I face what's real:
I'm just a thief, who’s born to steal.
Whose only hope of saying "something new",
is saying: “Well … there really isn’t something new.”

[Chorus]
So this is my attempt, for a song that no one ever sung.
A thought still left untold by any tongue.
All else was said in verse and chord
so now I sing the great unheard ...
The song that says there is nothing new in any song,
that hasn’t been sung all along.

[Verse]
I thought to write a ballad sung by spoons left in the sink.
A protest song for raindrops with no time to stop and think ...

Maybe a lullaby for clocks that mourn,
for moments lost before they’re born.

Yeah, ... turns out, my muse has left her seat.
My thoughts are trapped on dead repeat.
Now all I write, in ink or air,
is déjà vu dressed up as rare.

Don’t act surprised ... yes, it loops by design.
Here comes the chorus just for you, in glory, one more time ...

[Chorus]
So this is my attempt, for a song that no one ever sung.
A thought still left untold by any tongue.
All else was said in verse and chord
so now I sing the great unheard ...
The song that says there is nothing new in any song,
that hasn’t been sung all along.

[Instrumental]

[Verse]
I feel there’s nothing left to write ...
Just different shades of borrowed light.
But maybe songs don’t need to shine,
just flicker once in someone’s mind.

And if you think it’s kind of dumb
just wait until you hear my album number one ...
Twelve tracks of brilliant, bitter wrongs ...
And all of them … the same old songs.

[Final Chorus]
So this was my attempt ... not bold, not brave ...
just one more ripple on the wave.
The song’s been sung, the tale's been told,
but still it’s mine, though not quite gold.
And if it echoes what came before ...
then maybe that’s what songs are for.

This is my gift for you ... a final wrong:
A brand-new, used-up, unsung song.

[End]