If you were a carpenter, your hands to the grain
If you’d stayed a stranger and I’d never learned your name
If you were a creature of make-believe
If you were the shades of colors my eyes cannot see

I never would have known what you could have meant to me

If you were a mason, your body of stone
If you were a garden with myrtle overgrown
If you were the walls that purposed the room
If you were a prism with the light passing through

I never would have known what you could have meant to me

If you were a child born new into the day
If you were the dreamcatcher above the bed I made
If you were immortal with no concern for age
If you were the northern hills that knew no rapid pace

I never would have known what you could have meant to me