가사

THE HANDS THAT RAISED ME



I watched my mother count money

as though every note had a heartbeat.

Bills gathered around her like hungry birds,

and she kept dividing what little she had

into pieces large enough for all of us.



She worked while the world slept,

carried burdens she never placed on our shoulders,

and smiled with a tiredness

I was too young to understand

but old enough to remember.



There was a particular pain in watching her struggle,

loving someone whose hands were always busy

building a life that kept collapsing beneath its cost.

I wanted to help,

but childhood had empty pockets.



Sometimes I watched her come home

and wondered how much exhaustion

a person's body could hide behind a smile.

She rarely called her sacrifices sacrifices.

She simply called them life.



I learned early that love can be expensive,

not because it asks for money,

but because it asks people to give pieces of themselves

they may never get back.

My mother gave many of hers.



So her sacrifices became seeds beneath my skin.

Every dream I carry remembers her name.

I want to build a life where the people I love

do not have to choose between survival and peace,

where her labour finally has somewhere to rest.