you're a painting with symbols deep, 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
the paper and string, and canvas touch
with ink in the air, to dust your light?
from morning to the black of night
Chorus
this is my call I belong to You
this is my call to sing the melodies 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 variations 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 till the day has passed....