In a quiet town where the grey clouds stayed
Lived a quiet little lad they rarely named
He walked the roads with a lowered head
And carried storms no one else had read
The other children laughed and ran
While worries slipped through his small hands
For every fear he couldn’t say
He found a stranger kind of way
When the night fell soft and the world grew still
He reached for ink and quiet will
So he drew the stitches, line by line
Across the skin where the pain would climb
Like sewing up the broken parts
Of the lonely rooms inside his heart
Threadless seams in charcoal black
Trying to hold the shadows back
A silent craft no one knew
The hurting boy had drawn it through
Each little mark a story told
Of whispered fears and secrets cold
Of days where laughter felt too far
And nights that echoed who you are
The lines would cross, the lines would bend
Like maps of places pain had been
A patchwork made of quiet cries
Hidden beneath long sleeves and lies
He hoped the lines would make him whole
Like mending cloth or broken soul
Chorus
So he drew the stitches, careful and slow
Where the unseen troubles seemed to grow
Like sewing shut the cracks of thought
With every line the charcoal brought
Threadless seams in fading blue
Holding together what he knew
A silent craft the world passed through
The hurting boy had drawn it through
But ink can fade and rain can fall
And lines can’t hold a heart at all
Yet every mark the lad had made
Was proof the pain refused to stay
For every scar that fear had spun
The boy would face it, one by one
So he drew the stitches, not to hide
But just to keep the hurt inside
A quiet art beneath the skin
Where silent battles had once been
And though the town still never knew
The storm he fought, the strength he grew
Those fragile lines he once had drawn
Were steps that led the boy… beyond.