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When it all comes true |
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Just the way you planned |
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It's funny but the bells don't ring |
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It's a quiet thing. |
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When you hold the world |
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In your trembling hand. |
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You think you'd hear a choir singing |
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But it's a quiet thing. |
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There are no exploding fireworks |
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Where's the roaring of the crowds |
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Maybe it's the strange new atmosphere |
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Way up here among the clouds |
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There won't be trumpets or balls of fire |
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To say he's coming, |
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No Roman candles, no angel's choir |
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No sound of distant drumming, |
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He may not be the cavalier |
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Tall and graceful, fair and strong, |
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Doesn't matter just as long as he |
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Comes along |
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But not with trumpets or lightning flashing |
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Or shining armor, |
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He may be daring, he may be dashing |
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Or maybe he's a farmer, |
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I can wait, what's another day? |
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He has lots of hills to climb |
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And a hero doesn't come till |
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The nick of time |
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Don't look for trumpets or whistles tooting |
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To guarantee him, |
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There won't be trumpets, but sure as shooting |
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You'll know him when you see him |
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Don't know when, don't know where, |
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I can't even say that I care |
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All I know is the minute you turn |
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And he's suddenly there |
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You won't need trumpets |
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There are no trumpets |
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Who needs trumpets? |
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Happiness comes in on tiptoe |
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Well what d'ya know |
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It's a quiet thing |
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A very quiet thing |
