I just spent an hour cleaning my kitchen
Killing time instead of writing songs
I'm terrified that even if you listen
I won't have anything to say at all
I'm so sorry if I've ever written
A line that sounded trite but just not true
I promise it was never my intention
To act like I know what you're going through
See, I got a microphone, and I'm on the radio
But that doesn't mean I know your hopes and fears
So I can not assume I know what to sing for you
I can only write the songs I need to hear
I need to hear, I don't need all the answers
But questions are a danger to the truth
I need to hear that what I'm doing matters
That I'm loved for who I am, not what I do
