Your grand ideals are so close to all of ours
and for us all of this you would do.
Yes, the sun illuminates your face.

Well, you might think - but your mask of gold
still shows your eyes of coal.
Of course the moon throws shadows on your face;
your cold mask wanes.
YouÕre wishing on, insisting on a way
to wake to find a gleam of hopeful rays.
You might say that it is my lack of faith and not your mistake.
Aside from right or wrong or who is at fault, the end result-
a broken image that you canÕt hope to mend.
You might try to adhere the pieces with your denial.
Is this your gift to me?
Music &Lyrics ©1996 by Middle Earth
lyrics by David Lee & Charlene Thompson