(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