There is tender music here, carried on the breeze, sweeter than petals of roses,

It falls gently, sleeps soundly, whispers longingly to my sleeping mind.

This chorus keeps the night air at bay and so am I engulfed by comfort rather than ice.

Sing sweet music, sing lowly, sing loudly, carry me with you when the dawn comes.


Pass the oak embowered boulevard and find a quartet there, playing strings of silk

Their bows bringing sparks, new life into the world that drift into the sky with laughter.

Lift the heavy burden from a back of brass and stone and leave it behind with the bold soloist,

As he breathes a melody of the seasons into the air, but his music is not the tender music I hear.


Leave the strings and enter the palace of revelry, bright lights and singing lips.

The laughter beckons and is a tune all together new, different from the outside air

Symphony play on, chorus breathe new, songs of passing fancies and daylight dreams

Of heroes and passion, but this is still not the music that I hear.


Leave the bar and come to rest at the foot of a familiar door, aperture of light,

Find a voice that you know and cling to it, this is the music I hear,

Sing in the expanse of the life that you have known, so brief yet full of love.

Find a face and place a kiss upon it, this is the music that I hear.