The spoken language is a type of musical genre. Every word is uttered with a slight change in frequency and pitch. Up and down the staff of our hearts we speak life and death and not much in between.
I can still remember the few times I have impressed my earthly father. I remember the look on his face, the approving pat of his hand on my head. Most of all I remember His words. "I couldn't be more proud of you." He speaks with a grin of satisfaction upon his lips.
I remember the times you sang a secret of love into my ears, and into my heart. Giving me a tune to sing to when you're gone and I'm alone. Am I ever alone?
We will be together, physically, one day.
I can still remember the few times I have impressed my earthly father. I remember the look on his face, the approving pat of his hand on my head. Most of all I remember His words. "I couldn't be more proud of you." He speaks with a grin of satisfaction upon his lips.
I remember the times you sang a secret of love into my ears, and into my heart. Giving me a tune to sing to when you're gone and I'm alone. Am I ever alone?
We will be together, physically, one day.
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