I mount up with waxen wings,
High to reach the sun.
And I am no further than,
Than when I first begun.

So I build a mount of Athos
To shape your form against the sky;
With my home in your hands
To show all the people why,
To show all the people why.

Everything I do,
It's not enough for you.
Everything I do,
It's not enough, it's not enough for you.

In the garden of my pride,
The lamented lime tree.
Too stupid to cry for rain;
fruitless and choked out by weeds.

So I write a book of life,
Using the best words I can find.
For some struggler to snuggle up
When the world becomes unkind.
When the world becomes unkind.

I find direction in east-bound clouds,
And long for what they have.
But when I step into its midst,
Its substance I cannot grasp.
So I paint a portrait of you
As if you had human disguise;
With oil and canvas to be clay,
To open up their eyes,
Like you opened up my eyes.

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