[Intro]
Soft lamplight drips on wooden floors, a kitchen clock keeps time.
Names like little driftwood float through the air, a lineage in the quiet shine.
[Verse 1]
Nazwa on the doorframe, bold in the grain of tides,
Azka in the kitchen laughter, where the old stories hide.
Gwen at the window, tracing lines on grandmother’s hands,
Weave our names through the tapestry, where every generation stands.
[Pre-Chorus]
We listen to the echo of the names our fathers wore,
To the corners of the house that hold what came before.
[Chorus]
Nazwa, Azka, Gwen—we carry you like light,
In every shared meal, in every quiet night.
From old backs to new morning prayers we spin,
Kinship in our veins, where we’ve always lived within.
[Verse 2]
Grandmother murmurs—Nazwa, a map of roots and rain,
Azka, a chorus of footsteps down the hallway’s lane.
Gwen folds a scarf of memory, colors bloom from the loom,
We stand the line between past and now, and call it home.
[Pre-Chorus]
We gather around the table where the cool air holds a smile,
Passing down the stories that travel every mile.
[Chorus]
Nazwa, Azka, Gwen—we carry you like light,
In every shared meal, in every quiet night.
From old backs to new morning prayers we spin,
Kinship in our veins, where we’ve always lived within.
[Bridge]
If stars forget our names, the heart remembers names through kin,
A warm, threadbare map of where we’ve always been.
[Chorus]
Nazwa, Azka, Gwen—we carry you like light,
In every shared meal, in every quiet night.
From old backs to new morning prayers we spin,
Kinship in our veins, where we’ve always lived within.
[Outro]
And when the house sighs with the turning of the year,
We blush with the warmth of belonging, softly drawing near.
