[Verse 1]

Dear Santa,
I write when the year exhales,
when clocks loosen their grip
and the city forgets to rush.

Windows glow like quiet thoughts.
Somewhere, a child is rehearsing a wish.
I’m rehearsing a sentence
that hasn’t found its breath yet.

[Pre-Chorus]
This letter has no ribbon,
only space where ideas pass through.

[Chorus]
Dear Santa,
I don’t want gifts this year.
Nothing that needs a place on a shelf.
Dear Santa,
I’m asking for what arrives uninvited
the moment a song begins to speak.

[Verse 2]
Dear Santa,
I don’t need more than this page,
more than a voice learning its own shape.
I’m searching for the quiet push,
the unseen hand that turns a thought into sound.

Let me hear what waits behind the silence.
Let me trust the first note, even unfinished.
Somewhere between doubt and patience,
a melody is choosing me.

[Pre-Chorus]
If anything still moves without being called,
let it move through this.

[Chorus]
Dear Santa,
I don’t want gifts this year.
No weight, no shine, no proof.
Dear Santa,
leave me the courage to begin again,
and the clarity to follow what appears.

[Bridge]
And if you pass by other windows tonight,
pause where creation happens quietly.
Hands open, unsure, still trying.

Leave them the same gift.
A sudden knowing.
A line that arrives fully formed.
The feeling that the next song is possible.

[Break]
Dear Santa…
Dear Santa…
Dear Santa…

[Final Chorus]
Dear Santa,
don’t bring me gifts this year.
Bring me the reasons to create.
Dear Santa,
let music find its way through people,
and give our days a pulse of meaning.

[Outro, spoken]
Dear Santa,
Fill my life with melodies.