Text: John Hiatt. Through Your Hands.

You were dreaming on a park bench
'Bout 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 coat

And you ask, "What am I not doing?"
She says, "Your voice cannot command
In time, you will move mountains
It will come through your hand"

Still you argue for an option
Still you angle 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
Might 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
It will come through your hand, your hand"

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 high as music flying
Through the angel's hair

Don't ask what you are not doing
Because your voice cannot command
In time we will move mountains
And it will come through your hands

Through your hands
Through your hands
Through your hands
...