Beauty and pain often go together.
The thorns of a rose make it that much better.
No pain means no beauty, no darkness no light,
There must be two sides in every battle fight.
The deeper the fall, the more majestic the rise.
The darker the room, the more light there's to shine.
The deeper the sin, the more to forgive,
The more you're forgiven, the more you will give.
The darkest of times is the richest of times.
The higher the mountain, the more you will climb.
Adversity is the father of growth,
The pressure built up can revive a soul.
The voices of a crowd are mixed as one,
As threads are wound with threads and strung.
If you stand back and run it's sound that's only blurred,
But focus on the one, one voice that assures.
The voices of a crowd they unite together,
Like notes in a chord or birds chirping in the winter.
My child, my child, just sit and listen
And try to hear my voice from the chaos so twisted.
The voices of a crowd they blend as one,
But one voice I found that brings air to my lungs.
If you step back and stand you get very confused
And don't see the hand that's really helping you.
When the king raises his hand, the raging see to calm
You'll realize then, the earth will see; the world is in his palm.