[Verse 1]
He reads the room before he walks inside,
Sorts every signal, files every vibe,
A mind that catalogs the world by feel,
Turns what he notices into something real,
The public face is sharp, composed, and bright,
But the fire he runs on burns out of sight,

[PreChorus]
He carries a whole philosophy in his chest,
An atlas of answers he's never pressed,

[Chorus]
Pat, you built something sturdy from the restless and the refined,
A man who holds the blueprint and the dream at the same time,
Every room you've ever entered you already knew its weight,
Pat, the stars that wrote you down said you were worth the wait,

[Verse 2]
He keeps a short list, loyal to the bone,
Not every stranger earns a seat at his throne,
When he gives his word it lands like ironwood,
He'd walk the whole philosophy if he could,
His love's a conversation, sharp and true,
A well-timed joke that says I'm here for you,

[PreChorus]
The deep end of a question is where he feels at home,
He built his own belief from the wandering alone,

[Chorus]
Pat, there's a hunger in your marrow that no diploma fills,
The long road out of certainty is where you find your thrills,
Every ledger that you balanced had a line you couldn't name,
Pat, the man behind the discipline is worthy of his fame,

[Verse 3]
The inner current runs beneath the craft,
He second-guessed the gold and still held fast,
What looks like calm is voltage held in check,
He's rebuilt value more than once from wreck,
The wound that asked if he was worth the ground
Became the question that would not be drowned,

[PreChorus]
He's not arriving somewhere new, he's clearing what obscured,
The compass he constructed is the only one assured,

[Chorus]
Pat, the ones who moved in silence always moved the furthest through,
The proof was in the decade-long, the daily, the pursue,
No borrowed map could chart the country only you have known,
Pat, you are the north the needle kept returning home,

[Bridge]
The ideals he chased above the treeline weren't illusions in disguise,
They were the drafts before the finished thing he finally recognized,
He traded comfort for the question, traded easy for the true,
And every door he chose to open was the one that opened too,

[Outro]
Pat, the sky that held your first breath still holds,
Every hard-won answer, every story he told,
The ink has always read the same for you,
The man the morning asks for, through and through,