From when I was a little child I picked up on thought and sound It isn't always visible but it is still around. It's the talent and the beauty The poetry of life You find it in a sonnet Or the colours of Monet In Pavarotti's voice The world just melts away. Shakespeare's words? They drip like honey And illuminate the stage It sends shivers up the spine What Wordsworth scribbled on a page. Jules Verne could tell the future Da Vinci saw what was to be Their vision shaped the world we know Now that is great to me. Does it have a name? What Rembrant found within his art? That secret, silent something That burns within the heart. As a child Wolfgang Mozart Drew everybody's gaze He serenaded Europe Wrote music to amaze. Was Bogart such a legend? Now, don't speak before you think Not everyone can breathe life into A person made of ink. The passion is alive It lives inside the soul. When pen is put to paper Or the bow goes to the string When that magic is embodied We hear the angels sing.