They say for every paper star made, a fallen star is saved. Those diamonds in the velvet sky, they twinkle, knowing someday they'll die. I can't save them all, not at all, not at all. Beneath the ground beneath our feet, even more lie in quiet defeat. I can’t save them all, no matter how small, no matter how tall. Why fold another dream, when all life hangs by a little seam? Hope, as fragile as paper, teeters so softly - a fleeting caper… I can’t save them all, no matter how small, no matter how tall. Each fold, each crease of a paper star, will never stitch an ever-bleeding scar.