05. The Face No Letter Could Hold

[Intro] An old letter crossed the centuries, Wearing candlelight and dust, Trying to paint the Holy One In the colours of our trust. [Verse 1] Was His hair like ripened branches, Was His beard a prophet's sign, Were His eyes the sea at evening, Was His silence bread and wine? Every age has drawn a portrait, Every heart has made a frame, But the paper starts to tremble When it tries to hold His name. [Pre-Chorus] Canus, caeruleus, shadows in the flame, Latin on the parchment, Love behind the claim. [Chorus] No letter could hold His face, No painter could own His grace, No century can make Him small enough to see. The image falls apart, But He remains the heart, The mystery that kneels beside me. [Verse 2] Historians lower their lanterns, Devotion raises its eyes, Between the fact and icon A human longing lies. Maybe short hair, maybe longer, Maybe ordinary skin, But holiness is not measured By the portrait we begin. [Hook] Show me not the face alone; Show me the mercy on the throne. [Extension 1 - Verse 3] At thirty-three in the shadow, At Golgotha in the cry, No statistic knows the sorrow That went dark across the sky. A beard, a height, a colour, A robe in desert air, These may guide a faithful image, But they cannot keep Him there. [Bridge] If He looked like every neighbour, Would we pass Him in the street? If He came without the halo, Would we fall before His feet? If the forged thing served the faithful, If the false thing stirred the true, Then discernment walks with wonder, And the soul must think it through. [Chorus] No letter could hold His face, No painter could own His grace, No century can make Him small enough to see. The image falls apart, But He remains the heart, The mystery that kneels beside me. [Chant] Miserere, Kyrie, Light beyond the history. [Extension 2 - Final Movement] Let the scholar keep the caution, Let the pilgrim keep the fire, Let the artist keep the reverence, Let the proud mind not grow higher. For the Word became a body, Not a riddle made of clay, And the truth is more than features On a reconstructed day. [Final Moral] When we cannot prove the image, We can still obey the call: Love the poor, forgive the guilty, Find His face within them all. [Final Chorus] No letter could hold His face, No painter could own His grace, No century can make Him small enough to see. The image falls apart, But He remains the heart, The mystery that kneels beside me. [Outro] Show me not the face alone; Show me the mercy on the throne.