Silent G
By Stephanie M Mancini
Silent G
[Spoken Word Intro]
A... E... I... O... U...
What about the silent consonants between letters?
People look at these hands and they just see the stiffness. They see the ache.
But they don't recognize the silent G by design.
But they don’t get it.
These hands aren't broken. They’re just waiting for the right touch.
We aren't the burden. We’re the pick.
And when we strike the right chord... we translate God.
[Verse 1]
I want something to hold my hand—
Not to take care of me,
But to feel what comes out of it.
See, they may be right-handed,
But they’re using me to operate two left feet.
I’m tired of picking up everyone’s weight,
Dragging their clumsy steps across the floor.
An instrument doesn’t tell you where to go,
It just responds to what you bring to the door.
[Pre-Chorus]
I’m stepping out of the box they built for me.
No more orchestrated lines, no more anatomy.
Because a vessel doesn’t need a perfect frame,
It just needs to hold the power of the Name.
Watch the shift happen when the pressure lands...
[Chorus]
Like a guitar holds the vibration of whatever comes through,
Like an accordion takes your breath and turns it into sound—
When the right hands connect, suddenly there’s eight.
What looks like a prayer is just the infinite shape.
Don’t try to understand, just give me a hand,
Let the strings translate what my fingers can't say,
Turn this vibration into something that stays.
[Verse 2]
Call it a flute, but don’t put me in a box,
I don’t need somebody orchestrated or perfectly planned.
Just give me someone who doesn’t underestimate
The silent language of the bands.
Moving like the letter G in the word eight,
Silent to the ear, but right on the infinite cue.
We are the pick to the vibration of how we know God,
Music only happens when the touch is true.
[Pre-Chorus]
I’m stepping out of the box they built for me.
No more orchestrated lines, no more anatomy.
Because a vessel doesn’t need a perfect frame,
It just needs to hold the power of the Name.
Watch the shift happen when the pressure lands...
[Chorus]
Like a guitar holds the vibration of whatever comes through,
Like an accordion takes your breath and turns it into sound—
When the right hands connect, suddenly there’s eight.
What looks like a prayer is just the infinite shape.
Don’t try to understand, just give me a hand,
Let the strings translate what my fingers can't say,
Turn this vibration into something that stays.
[Bridge]
No revolving doors.
No figure-skating in circles.
No amusement-park rides pretending movement means progress.
Give me an open road where the lane is wide,
Let it curve toward the ocean with no guardrails in sight.
Let it keep expanding.
[Outro]
So take this guitar and make it eight.
High five, high five—
Make it a ten.
High five, fits like a glove,
Right in the palm of my hands.
Just a pick to the vibration.
The silent G...
Let it stay.
