By truth I am a bleeding stone,
When try to write you words of joy.
Cause on this day who marks time past.
Naught but fear and loathe I find
Within your heart, curved by a moan.

So I will sing no Gloria's
To season pass or deeds long done.
But I will praise with honest heart,
Those things you are that won't be gone.

Your gentle smile,
Your swiftest hand,
Your hair that smells of fresh dropped rain.
Are but a frame,
And you are not, will never be,
The kind who let a frame regime.

A listening ear,
A gentle heart,
A mind that shares both pain and joy.
Are but a few eternal flames,
For which to you, my soul I pledge.

So, yes my dear.
Today I dance,
And sing and pray.
For a year has set to see another rising.
And in both, I hope, I will have a part to play.