Prism Song
If you were a carpenter, your hands to the grain
If you'd stayed a stranger and I'd never learned your name
If you were a creature of make believe
If you were the shades of colors my eyes cannot see
I never would have known what you could have meant to me
If you were a mason, your body over stone
If you were a garden with myrtle overgrown
If you were the walls that purposed the room
If you were a prism with the light passing through
I never would have known what you could have meant to me
If you were a child, born new into the day
If you were the dreamcatcher above the bed I make
If you were immortal, with no concern for age
If you were the northern hills that knew not rapid pace
I never would have known what you could have meant to me
Canción del Prisma
Si fueras un carpintero, tus manos en el grano
Si hubieras permanecido un extraño y nunca hubiera aprendido tu nombre
Si fueras una criatura de fantasía
Si fueras los tonos de colores que mis ojos no pueden ver
Nunca hubiera sabido lo que podrías haber significado para mí
Si fueras un albañil, tu cuerpo sobre la piedra
Si fueras un jardín con mirto desbordante
Si fueras los muros que dieron propósito a la habitación
Si fueras un prisma con la luz pasando a través
Nunca hubiera sabido lo que podrías haber significado para mí
Si fueras un niño, nacido de nuevo en el día
Si fueras el atrapasueños sobre la cama que hago
Si fueras inmortal, sin preocupación por la edad
Si fueras las colinas del norte que desconocen el ritmo acelerado
Nunca hubiera sabido lo que podrías haber significado para mí