|
I will be the gladdest thing under the sun |
|
I will touch a hundred flowers and not pick one |
|
I will look at cliffs and clouds with quiet eyes |
|
Watch the wind blow down the grass and the grass rise |
|
Doesn't each of us have a place we belong |
|
Could be a sidewalk crack or sad song |
|
Inside our searching is desire to etch a silent thought in stone |
|
To make our tender heart known |
|
I will be the gladdest thing under the sun |
|
I will touch a hundred flowers and not pick one |
|
I will look at cliffs and clouds with quiet eyes |
|
Watch the wind blow down the grass and the grass rise |
|
And when the lights begin to show up from the town |
|
I will mark which must be mine and then start down |
|
Everyone wants to be a hero or a savior of small things |
|
I want to be champion of evening, forget not the beauty of the in-betweens |
|
Everyone of us had orphaned our bodies |
|
Born from dust of the stars |
|
We can comfort each other in this place |
|
I can look into your eyes and see my own face |
|
I will be the gladdest thing under the sun |
|
I will touch a hundred flowers and not pick none |
|
I will look at cliffs and clouds with quiet eyes |
|
Watch the wind blow down the grass and the grass rise |
|
And when the lights begin to show up from the town |
|
I will mark what must be mine and then start down |
