This is my song.
These are my words.
This is my melody
Bouncing off the walls to the ends of the earth.
But who is there to sing it back to me?
Maybe they’re somewhere past this big Texas sky
Or standing there waiting in front of my eyes.
To sing and echo (echo) my song
Waiting to be my echo (echo).

A little girl stands on the edge of a cliff.
She screams “Echo, why can’t I hear you?”
And nobody answers.
No voice calls back.
Because her little voice is still small
She is not grown up.

Little girls grow up
And now she stands on the edge of that cliff.
She opens her mouth knowing echoes wait
But then closes it back again.
Still too young to give her echo away.

Years pass and her heart is lonely.
Craving for her Echo.
She’s so tempted to cry out.
But she’s saving it for the one
That will truly echo back.

One night she had a dream about the cliff.
So in the darkness of the sleeping sun
She ran.
Someone was on the other side.
“Echo? Is that you?”
He called back “Echo? Is that you?”
The grown up little girl cried tears of laughter
God had given her her own Echo.

Echoes call to those who wait.
Whose echo are you?
This is my song.
These are my words.
This is my melody
Bouncing off the walls to the ends of the earth.
But who is there to sing it back to me?
Maybe they’re somewhere past this big Texas sky
Or standing there waiting in front of my eyes.
To sing and echo my song.