| Just beyond my sight, something that I cannot see
|
| I’ve been circling around a thought that’s been circling round me
|
| Like the vapor of a song that is just out of your shot
|
| And I thought I knew the question, but I guess not
|
| There it is just below the surface of
|
| things
|
| In a flash of blue, and the turning of wings
|
| I drain the glass, drink it down, every moment
|
| of this
|
| Every little bit of it, every little bit
|
| I swam against the tide, I tripped on my own pride
|
| So I’ll try again today, to get out of my own way
|
| The face was always in the stone, said Michelangelo
|
| We just have to chip and clear, to see what is already there
|
| There it is just below the surface of
|
| things
|
| In a flash of blue, and the turning of wings
|
| I drain the glass, drink it down, every moment
|
| of this
|
| Every little bit of it, every little bit
|
| There it is in the apple of every new notion
|
| There it is in the scar healed over what was
|
| broken
|
| In the branches, in the whispering
|
| In the silence and the sighs
|
| And the furious promise of limited time
|
| It’s true although it’s hard
|
| A shadow glides over the ridge
|
| And one fast beating heart
|
| Tries with its might to live
|
| And we sense, but can’t describe
|
| From the corner of our eye
|
| Something nameless and abiding
|
| And so we keep transcribing
|
| There it is just below the surface of
|
| things
|
| In a flash of blue, and the turning of wings
|
| I drain the glass, drink it down, every moment
|
| of this
|
| Every little bit of it, every little bit |