(Henry/Denver)
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There are many ways of being in the circle we call life.
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A wise man seeks an answer, burns his candle through the night.
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Is a jewel just a pebble that found a way to shine?
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Is a hero's blood more righteous than a hobo's sip of wine?
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Did I speak to you one morning on some distant world away?
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Did you save me from an arrow? Did you lay me in a grave?
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Were we brothers on a journey? Did you teach me how to run?
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Were we broken by the waters? Did I lie you in the sun?
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I dreamed you were a prophet in a meadow, I dreamed I was a mountain in the wind.
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I dreamed you knelt and touched me with a flower, I awoke with this: a flower in my hand.
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I know that love is seeing all the infinite in one.
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In the brotherhood of creatures, through the Father, through the Son.
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The vision of your goodness will sustain me through the cold.
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Take my hand now to remember when you find yourself alone: you are never alone.
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And the spirit fills the darkness of the heavens. It fills the endless yearning of the soul.
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It lives within a star too far to dream of. It lives within each part and is the whole:
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it's the fire and the wings that fly us home, fly us home, fly us home.
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The Wings That Fly Us Home
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| John Denver |
