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.