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Walking down the quiet street,
the morning air is soft and clear.
Every shadow fades away,
as the season draws me near.
Every page is turning slow,
stories only spring can show.
Write me a story, spring in the air,
every beginning starts from here.
Pages unfolding, colors alive,
a narrative built on hope inside.
Whispers in the gentle breeze,
carry songs of days to come.
Every moment feels alive,
every silence sings as one.
Write me a story, spring in the air,
every beginning starts from here.
Even if the night will fall,
light will answer every call.
Write me a story, spring in the air,
every beginning starts from here.
