I may not have the view of mountains in the Spring
I may not own the luxury of fine and fancy things
I may not see treasures that linger in a sight
But fly to me and we shall weave the magic of the night

I may not witness holy words from mouths or pens I meet
I may not find the priceless stone or relics hidden deep
I may not have the gift to paint a master's work of art
But with you lies the masterpiece that dwells inside my heart

I may not fully witness the rising of the sun
I may not even walk, or have the strength to run
I may not hear the piano keys or that of guitar strings
But sing to me and skies will see me dance with angel wings

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