They say he knew whose Son he was, At least that's what I've heard. But heaven never mailed him An instruction book or word. No owner's manual from above, No angel stopping by to say, "Here's where all the miracle buttons are... Good luck, have a nice day." If you're Heaven's only begotten, There's no handbook on the shelf. No angel leaves a note that says, "Here's how to be yourself." So maybe every miracle Started out by accident. A carpenter just figuring out What all those strange gifts meant. [Chours] Who taught the Son of God? Who showed him what to do? Did miracles come naturally, Or one surprise at a time or two? Maybe every wonder started As a happy little fluke. Even Heaven's brightest student Had to learn without a book. Verse 3 Maybe one day at the supper table He reached to grab the bread. The water turned to Merlot red— "Well...that's peculiar," Mary said. Joseph shrugged and took a sip, "Son, that was mighty fine But don't let on to your sleight of hand The neighbors won't understand Verse 4 Maybe he joined a traveling circus to learned some magic tricks But found to his amazement he didn't need the tricks He learned to be a mentalist, Told the future to those who'd dare, But then he started curing folks— They'd come in sick and leave repaired. Outro How do you learn a miracle? Who tells you where to start? Do you practice on the little things Before the bigger parts? There's no heavenly handbook, No teacher standing near... Maybe he spent those missing years discovering miracles are a career
