What Is True?
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Silver tongues are speaking long and hard into the night
I must be myself and I'll do alright
Oh please, my darling, do not make me sad
Late at night nobody really wants to feel that bad
The rain it beats impatiently upon the window pane
I must close my ears or I'll go insane
Can't you be a gentle breeze or silent as a snowfall?
Won't you try and listen for the voice behind the wall?
It cries to you even though it only
Ever whispers part of what it knows
And it's never ventured through the locks where the brazen river flows
It's the fingerprint which is never made, it's the perfume of a rose
And it is there if you are searching, but the moment must be right
As the night is black as the day is white
Please, my friend, help to make me glad
Help me find the one and only thing I've never had
What is true even though it only ever whispers part of what it knows
And it's never ventured through the locks where the brazen river flows
It's the fingerprint which is never made, it's the perfume of a rose