Do we choose what we perceive each hour?
Or are we automata clothed in skin,
Who see the thorns and then ignore the flower?
Can we, like grass, be grateful for a shower.
Or is our store of gratitude too thin?
Can we choose what we perceive each hour?
Can we choose to smile instead of cower?
Can we love the game played not to win?
Who notes all sharp thorns, yet not the flower?
Do we choose to love or use our power?
Can we choose the virtue, not the sin?
Do we choose what we perceive each hour?
Can we love the game played not to win?
Who notes all sharp thorns, yet not the flower?
Do we choose to love or use our power?
Can we choose the virtue, not the sin?
Do we choose what we perceive each hour?
As we struggle inside Babel’s tower
Ambivalence torture us within
Most will see the thorns yet not the flowers
With softened eyes, we see the whole sweet bower
If we draw near, we see what is now dim
Can we choose what we perceive each hour?
Who sees the sharp thorns but not the flowers?
How my heart sings 