Verse 1 — Forty years of three small words, Said before the sun, said before the coffee, I Am, I Am, I Am again, Building something no one saw. Chorus F: I’m not the singer — M: I’m the reed the wind moves through. F: I’m not the story — M: I’m the strings it’s passing to. Both: Call it violin, call it piano, Call it whatever key we’re tuned in, We didn’t write these songs alone — We’re just the instrument they’re moving through. Verse 2 — F: A door cracked open - didn’t know it was blocked, Forty years of daily diligent prayer, Paving the way — built beyond the lock— Every hope laid more brick and stair. Verse 2 — M: (answering) Emmet Fox and Ernest Holmes, Florence Scovel’s certain words, Didn’t ask me to reject the old — Just keep shoring up the form Bridge — F: They’ve got songs for the Christ walk. M: Songs for the road to Damascus. F: Where’s the song for the ones still climbing M: Past the cross, into the “I Am”? F: Here’s a song for the mystic, M: The faith walker, the doctor of souls? F: Couldn’t find one— M: Now I am one Final Chorus I’m not the singer, I’m the instrument, Not the story, just what it’s passing through, Harmonica and voice, answering, answering, The way I’ve been answered my whole life through. Tag Call it violin. Call it piano. Call it whatever key I’m tuned in. I didn’t ask to carry this. I just didn’t put it down.
