Silver tongues are speaking long and hard into the night,
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I must be myself and I'll do alright.
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Oh please my darling do not make me sad,
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Late at night nobody really wants to feel that bad.
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The rain it beats impatiently upon the window pane,
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I must close my ears or I'll go insane.
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Can't you be a gentle breeze or silent as a snowfall,
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Won't you try and listen for the voice behind the wall.
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It cries to you.
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Even though it only ever whispers part of what it knows,
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And it's never ventured through the locks,
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Where the brazen river flows.
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It's the fingerprint which is never made.
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It's the perfume of a rose.
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And it is there if you are searching,
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But the moment must be right,
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As the night is black, as the day is white.
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Please my friend help to make me glad,
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Help me find the one and only thing I've never had.
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What is true?
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Even though it only ever whispers part of what it knows,
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And it's never ventured through the locks,
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Where the brazen river flows.
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It's the fingerprint which is never made.
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It's the perfume of a rose.
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-----------------
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What Is True?
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| Sandy Denny |
