Through Your Hands

You were dreaming on a park bench 'Bout a broad highway somewhere When the music from the carillon Seemed to hurl your heart out there Past the scientific darkness Past the fireflies that float To an angel bending down To wrap you in her warmest coat CHORUS: And you ask, "What am I not doing?" She says "Your voice cannot command. In time, you will move mountains, And it will come through your hands." Still you argue for an option Still you angle for your case Like you wouldn't know a burning bush If it blew up in your face Yeah, we scheme about the future And we dream about the past When just a simple reaching out