“It's me that shines and sparkles
when others strike you down.
It's me that rises firmly,
well-planted on the ground.”

They send you to the gallows
with unrelenting doubt
and perch me like a songbird
upon a stem, devout.

And preach to you but one psalm
"you will not sing again,"
be still, that cry inside you
shall wake me in the end.

Oh, life may cut your feathers
and cage me deep inside,
begrudge, that I may offer
your will, your soul, your pride.

But know I yearn to fly high,
soar free and reach for stars.
It's me that shines and sparkles
the dimmest from afar.

Still some will prune your flower,
dead head me 'til I dry,
reseed me in a garden
with never-ending lie.

Despair may even charm you,
bereave me on a bed
and cover me with worry;
of glimmer not a shred.

A rose that will not wither-
the one inside of you.
A bird that never quivers
when but the sky is blue.

I am the tender branches,
me, I'm the humming bird;
the only psalm that lingers
when all of them are heard.

It's me that shines and sparkles
when others strike you down.
It's Hope that rises firmly,
well-planted on the ground.