In the moments that most matter
In the space of tried and true
Like a hunter of pleasure I'm here to gather
In the beauty of you

I have searched beyond the seasons
Rode high on the rhythm of rhyme
Given thoughts to all the reasons
That point to the many signs

As I focus on what's before me
With nothing else this heart can do
I find over time I'm blinded by the light
That is the beauty of you

Being pulled along in the wake
Of the oceans you command
The purest of love will have its say
By any means it can

Imagine here right now forever
Never will this time be through
I do not take light holding with all of my might
All the beauty of you

i am the architect
of the thoughts within my head
building what i think
out of selfish need

dizzy are the heights
crooked the plum line
the plans that i have laid
mistakes that have been made

i have built it up
more centered on self than not
just to tear it down
times too numerous to count

a foundation built on sand
the random thoughts of man
finding the seams are cracked
in the strength i thought i had

for i am the architect
of all i've done and said
taking to the brink
all i've built out of selfish need

I want to see what makes you laugh
I want to see what makes you cry
I want to see deep inside your heart
And know the reason why

I want to see the time it takes
To get close to where you are
I want to see where love comes from
As we're held in each other's arms

I want to see our beginning
But I never want to see our end
I want to see it now
And I want to see it then

I want to see the sunshine
Reflect off your morning smile
I want to see it once
And then again a million times

I want to see all your desires
Mixed in with all your needs
I want to watch you sleep at night
So I can see inside your dreams

I want to see the playback
When all of this comes true
Then I want to see it rewound
And watch it all again with you

—A simple Child,
That lightly draws its breath,
And feels its life in every limb,
What should it know of death?

I met a little cottage Girl:
She was eight years old, she said;
Her hair was thick with many a curl
That clustered round her head.

She had a rustic, woodland air,
And she was wildly clad:
Her eyes were fair, and very fair;
—Her beauty made me glad.

“Sisters and brothers, little Maid,
How many may you be?”

“How many? Seven in all,” she said,
And wondering looked at me.

“And where are they? I pray you tell.”
She answered, “Seven are we;
And two of us at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea.

“Two of us in the church-yard lie,
My sister and my brother;
And, in the church-yard cottage, I
Dwell near them with my mother.”

“You say that two at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea,
Yet ye are seven!—I pray you tell,
Sweet Maid, how this may be.”

Then did the little Maid reply,
“Seven boys and girls are we;
Two of us in the church-yard lie,
Beneath the church-yard tree.”

“You run about, my little Maid,
Your limbs they are alive;
If two are in the church-yard laid,
Then ye are only five.”

“Their graves are green, they may be seen,”
The little Maid replied,
“Twelve steps or more from my mother’s door,
And they are side by side.

“My stockings there I often knit,
My kerchief there I hem;
And there upon the ground I sit,
And sing a song to them.

“And often after sunset, Sir,
When it is light and fair,
I take my little porringer,
And eat my supper there.

“The first that died was sister Jane;
In bed she moaning lay,
Till God released her of her pain;
And then she went away.

“So in the church-yard she was laid;
And, when the grass was dry,
Together round her grave we played,
My brother John and I.

“And when the ground was white with snow,
And I could run and slide,
My brother John was forced to go,
And he lies by her side.”

“How many are you, then,” said I,
“If they two are in heaven?”
Quick was the little Maid’s reply,
“O Master! we are seven.”

“But they are dead; those two are dead!
Their spirits are in heaven!”
’Twas throwing words away; for still
The little Maid would have her will,
And said, “Nay, we are seven!”