Silver tongues are speaking long and hard into the night,
I must be myself and Ill do alright.
Oh please my darling do not make me sad,
Late at night nobody really wants to feel that bad.

The rain it beats impatiently upon the window pane,
I must close my ears or Ill go insane.
Cant you be a gentle breeze or silent as a snowfall,
Wont you try and listen for the voice behind the wall.

It cries to you.

Even though it only ever whispers part of what it knows,
And its never ventured through the locks,
Where the brazen river flows.
Its the fingerprint which is never made.
Its the perfume of a rose.

And it is there if you are searching,
But the moment must be right,
As the night is black, as the day is white.
Please my friend help to make me glad,
Help me find the one and only thing Ive never had.

What is true?

Even though it only ever whispers part of what it knows,
And its never ventured through the locks,
Where the brazen river flows.
Its the fingerprint which is never made.
Its the perfume of a rose.