YOU'RE A PAINTING WITH SYMBOLS DEEP,
A 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 TO FLOW FROM THE PEN, BOW, AND BRUSH,
THEN PAPER, STRING, AND CANVAS TOUCH
WITH INK AND THE AIR TO DUST YOUR LIGHT
FROM MORNING ‘TIL THE BLACK OF NIGHT

CHORUS:
THIS IS MY CALL, I BELONG TO YOU
THIS IS MY CALL, TO SING THE MELODY 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 VARIATION TO
A DRINK THAT WILL KNOCK ME DOWN ON THE FLOOR
A KEY THAT WILL UNLOCK THE DOOR
WHERE I HEAR A VOICE SING FAMILIAR THEMES
THEN BECKONS ME WEAVE NOTES IN BETWEEN
A BOW AND A STRING, A TAP AND A GLASS
YOU POUR ME, ‘TIL THE DAY HAS PASSED

CHORUS