Born with a whisper, light in the hand,
A breath in the morning, a line in the sand.
Nothing but wonder, nothing but time,
A soul like a seed reaching up for the sky.
Oh, the world turns, and the rivers run,
Every new day just a race with the sun.
What will we make? What will we leave?
What does it mean just to be?
To rise and to fall, to stumble, to stand,
To hold out your heart in the palm of your hand. To love and to lose, to bend and to break, To dance in the fire, to dream while awake. Oh, isn't it something, the life that we weave? This beautiful burden of learning to be.
We are the echoes of laughter and pain,
The dust of the stars, the kiss of the rain.
A voice in the silence, a step in the sand,
A moment, a memory slipping like strands.
Oh, the world turns, and the rivers run,
Every new face is a rise of the sun.
What will we make? What will we leave?
What does it mean just to be?
To rise and to fall, to stumble, to stand,
To hold out your heart in the palm of your hand. To love and to lose, to bend and to break, To dance in the fire, to dream while awake. Oh, isn't it something, the life that we weave? This beautiful burden of learning to be.
We are the longing, we are the fight,
We are the hands reaching out for the light.
Every heartbeat, every sigh,
A flicker of truth before we say goodbye.
To rise and to fall, to stumble, to stand,
To carry the weight and to open our hands.
To love and to lose, to learn and to stray,
To break and rebuild in a thousand new ways.
Oh, isn't it something, this life that we weave?
This beautiful burden of learning to be.
Born with a whisper, light in the hand,
A breath in the morning, a line in the sand