What holy cities are to nomadic tribes - a symbol of race and a bond of union - great books are to the wandering souls of men: they are the Meccas of the mind.
G.E. Woodberry
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Nothing
There's no picture,
I could paint to tell you what you mean to me
And no poem,
I could write to tell you what you mean to me
You're more than fire
You are more than rain
You're more than love
And you are more than pain
No, no, there's no single word
That could explain
There's no flower,
Blooming like the smile in your ethereal eyes
And no scholar,
Ever could explain it ââ?¬â?? he could be so wise
You're more than heaven
You are more than Earth
You're the origin
You are more than birth
You're more than beautiful
You're everything to me
It's not the way that you move
It's not the glowing
On your face when you smile
That makes me trembling and calm
It's not that look in your eyes
When I am going
It's just everything ââ?¬â?? what you are
There's no ocean,
Deep enough to show you what you mean to me
And no mountain,
High enough to show you what you mean to me
You're more than meaning
You are more than time
You are redemption
You're the reason why
You're so mysterious
You're everything to me
It's not the way that you move
It's not the glowing
On your face when you smile
That makes me trembling and calm
It's not that look in your eyes
When I am going
Don't you let them live in your soul
Whenever they will try
To barricade the way that you go
You're fragile souls can fly
It's not the way that you move