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Is there something I can offer you |
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As a token of my gratitude |
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Every gesture seems so small |
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Still I'd like to try |
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I could bring you flowers |
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Flowers would be sweet |
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I could find your favorite kind |
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And lay them at your feet |
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But flowers fade and die . . . |
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I would rather be the ground |
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In which a flower's grown |
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Through which your feet must pass |
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From which all seeds are sown |
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If I could give you anything |
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I would be the ground |
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Is there some place that you'd like to see |
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Some corner of the galaxy |
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Name it and I'll take you there |
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For I have learned to fly |
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I could show you azure skies |
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Or multi-colored orbs of light |
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Glittering before your eyes |
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Like jewels in the night: |
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And they would make you sigh |
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But I would rather be the space |
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In which our lives are hung |
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The silent, unseen thread |
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Through which these stars are strung |
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If I could take you anywhere |
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I would be the sky |
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If I could only find a way |
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To tell you what my heart would say |
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I could finally sing this love |
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And it would make you cry |
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But I have never found the words |
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That can speak this grace |
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That is why I must rely |
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On a gestureless embrace |
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Even so I try |
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But I would rather be the love |
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From which attempts arise |
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The origin of poetry |
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And of these tears that flood my eyes |
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If I could tell you anything |
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I would be the love |
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If I could give you anything |
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If I could take you anywhere |
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I would be the ground |
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I would be the sky |
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I would be the love |
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I am the ground |
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I am the sky |
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I am the love |
