you're a painting with symbols deep, symphony soft as it shifts from dark beneath a poem that flows, caressing my skin in all of these things you reside and I want you flow from the pen, bow and brush where paper and string, and canvas touch with ink in the air, to dust your light from morning to the black of night
[Chorus] this is my call I belong to You this is my call to sing the melodies of You this is my call I can do nothing else I can do nothing else
you're the scent of an unfound bloom a simple tune I only write variations to a drink that will knock me down to the floor a key that will unlock the door where I hear a voice saying familiar things then beckons me weave notes in between a ball and a string, a tap and glass you pour me till the day has passed....
