by John Hiatt)



You were dreaming on a park bench about a broad highway somewhere

When the music from the carillon seemed to hurl your heart out there

Past the scientific darkness, past the fireflies that float

To an angel bending down to wrap you in her warmest cloak



And you ask "What am I not doing?"

She says, "Your voice cannot command,

In time you will move mountains

And it will come through your hands."



Still you angle for an option, still you argue for your case

Like you wouldn't know a burning bush if it blew up in your face

Yeah, we scheme about the future and we dream about the past

When just a simple reaching out could build a bridge that lasts



And you ask "What am I not doing?"

She says, "Your voice cannot command,

In time you will move mountains

And it will come through your hands."



So whatever your hands find to do you must do with all your heart

There are thoughts enough to blow men's minds and tear great worlds apart

There's a healing touch to find you on that broad highway somewhere

To lift you as high as music running through an angel's hair



Don't ask what you are not doing

'Cause your voice cannot command

And in time we will move mountains

And it will come through your hands