Dear Pianist
Levi the Poet Lyrics

I drove to California on my own to try to get myself sad enough to write a new album.
I sought out sadness as a muse, hoping it would lead me to inspiration for new music.

I prayed and prayed for a salve that would heal the pain in my heart, and once the wound was held together, I pulled the stitching apart.
I begged for healing, but then intentionally destroyed it.

It's like the Lord answered all of my prayers, and now I want my questions back, and search for ways to spite his grace, and get my old gods back.
I feel like God answered my prayers, but now I want my doubts and fears back, and I look for ways to reject His grace and return to my old beliefs.

Dear, I can't pretend that I didn't thrive off of the emptiness I felt inside before the spirit invaded the void, just like I asked him to, and shared with all of you.
I can't deny that I found a kind of comfort in my emptiness before I invited the Holy Spirit in, just as I had requested and told others about.

I stepped out the front door and tossed up my keys to find myself in a closet stuffed with all of my insecurities, and all of the things that I'm ashamed of, and every broken memory that I keep to cut my wrists – and be it vain or be it pity, well I know that I still bleed, and I keep the shards of mirrored glass to see my expression as I seep out onto the carpet and stain my bare feet in a puddle that I'll drown in eight quarts deep.
As soon as I left my house, I was confronted with my own insecurities, shame, and pain. I cling to these as a way to harm myself, even though I know it's foolish and self-pitying.

When I was a boy, my daddy told me to unclench my fists – hold out my hands (like this) – and pray – like a picture of letting the Lord take your fears away. But he forgot to loosen his grip when it came time to practice it, and the thought got convoluted the day he went away. Jesus! If you see this, I hope I see him again someday.
My dad taught me as a child to unclench my fists and pray, but he himself didn't follow that advice and it caused confusion. I hope to reconnect with him again someday through Christ.

I drove alone along the western coast to write a poem somebody could relate to. I reopened every wound and bled myself dry just to try to feel the same way that I used to. I drove past the city at night, with the windows down, to watch the lights – and be so cold that I'm uncomfortable: you know I do it to myself.
I traveled along the coast to find inspiration for a relatable poem. I willingly re-traumatized myself to feel familiar pain. And as I drove by city lights, I let myself be cold and uncomfortable on purpose.

These headphones could be playing something else, but ‘we're at the bottom of everything' like the songwriter sings, and I make myself shiver until I believe it. I know every word to every song about despair, and I keep the album on repeat to keep me there.
I intentionally listen to songs about despair, even though I could choose something else, and I repeat them until I believe the message. I know all the words to these songs by heart and purposely keep myself stuck in that mindset.

She hit the first note and then that note set me free. Well, I fell in love with her sadness before she fell in love with me, but the best letters are those written in tears that smear the ink, so she played the keys and I started writing.
The first note of her music released me from my troubles. Though I was initially drawn to her sadness, I realized that real beauty comes from pain. So she played while I wrote, and we created something beautiful together.

I wrapped that sorrow up tight, like a noose around my neck, stood tall on a flimsy card table, and kicked it out from underneath my legs. And I've been hanging in a house of cards for months on end, swinging back and forth beneath a creaking rafter at the wind's every whim. I always ‘forgot' to close the windows so that I could let in the cold, knowing discomfort and disappointment were the only peace I'd ever known. I've got excuse upon excuse for every broken bone, but in the end, I broke them all myself to give the pain a home.
I have repressed my pain and hung it around my neck like a noose, even going so far as to endanger myself. I've clung to my pain despite knowing that it's harmful, using it as an excuse for my shortcomings. I inflict pain on myself to have agency over it.

Dear Pianist, I love you more than you'll ever know. I swear your smile saved my life. I swear your touch made me whole. But there is not an end to the self-condemning lies that I have believed, and there is no depth that I have not known in attempts to drown myself (or: set myself free) – to the point of pushing you away from me.
I love the pianist immensely and believe they've saved me, but I am struggling with my own self-destructive tendencies. I've held onto the lies that make me feel small, and I've attempted to harm myself so much that I've pushed the pianist away.

She said, "we fall apart and into our gods, but God meets us where we are! (and) Oh what a thought! (To live a life that's free!) But we are such a self-destructive bunch, aren't we? Writer, you are a part of me and there is nothing you can do to set to flame the fabric that has woven me to you. I will not be your broken heart and I will not be your empty oath, o! with our hands laid flat in surrender I swear we will both let go of the chains that choke us, that wrap their hands around our throats, and I will play you a new song and the lyrics that you wrote will accompany the melody
The pianist reminds me that we all have struggles and pain. But even when we're at our worst, God meets us where we are. Though we've been self-destructive, they vow to break free from that cycle and play me a new, hopeful song that I've written.

and every word she spoke was a land of milk and honey that I thought I'd never know.
The pianist's words were a revelation that brought me newfound faith and hope.

I drove to Washington on my own to sorrow in the rain, but we danced over every puddle, and joy washed the pain away, and it rode the gutters into the ocean, and the currents out beyond it's shores, to a whisper beyond the horizon, to be forgotten and thought of no more.
I went to Washington to wallow in despair, but with the pianist's help, I found joy and hope instead. Our happiness washed away my pain and carried it out to sea, never to be thought of again.