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Letters I Can't Send 1 by for

SongGPT
Letters I Can't Send 1 by for - Ballad,female vocals music cover art

Letters I Can't Send 1

Ballad,female vocals

0:003:48
Lyrics
Description
[Verse 1]
In the drawing-room silence, I pen thee a ghost—
Not a letter but a dirge, to the man I know most,
Yet know not at all—
Thou stand’st a statue, breathing frost through the hall.
Eyes of granite, voice of sleet,
A father’s figure, ever incomplete.
When thou enter’st, the air recoils—
As if even shadows refuse to toil.
[Pre-Chorus]
I tried to earn thy glance,
Like a jester thirsting for a king’s slight chance,
And every jest, a cry for grace—
But still, thou kept thy sovereign face.
[Chorus]
So I write thee missives I dare not send,
Emails unsent, parchments I’ll never amend.
Do I loathe thee, do I yearn?—I cannot discern,
For the ice betwixt us will never burn.
Thou didst not break me, but I did bend—
And these are the letters I can’t send.
[Verse 2]
O, the ache of seeing father and daughter laugh in parks—
Their ease a blade that leaves the deepest marks.
Mine hath never spoken love,
Only silence from above.
Wouldst thou ask of me, or stay for tea,
Without talk of weather or of me?
I stood in thine eyes like glass:
A thing to judge, then swiftly pass.
[Bridge]
And when I fell, I braced for thy disdain,
Thy silence louder than disdainful pain.
For shame hath grown, a vine of steel—
Around the girl thou wouldst not feel.
I sought thy favour, not out of guilt—
But to know if I was the daughter thou hadst built,
Or if, perchance, I was merely debris—
Of dreams thou buried quietly.
[Chorus]
So I write thee lines thou shalt ne’er read,
Sentences heavy with unspoken need.
Do I matter, or was I cursed?
A daughter rehearsed to be her worst.
Thou didst not lift me, but let me descend—
And these are the letters I can’t send.
[Outro]
Wilt thou ever see the ruin thou hath rendered?
Or dost thou dwell as though all were tender?
I shall not forgive, for thou hath not ceased—
Thine frost persists, thine warmth deceased.
No "I love thee", no call in the night,
Just formality dressed in civil fright.
And still, I bleed in every bend—
These bitter truths I cannot send.
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