Even as I sit and think of you br I wonder why I do the things I do. br The beats say it's the rivers of my heart's cry br Taking the shapes of words; br The rivers also flow through my eyes, br But those are messy and without form. br br My hands are the tools of my heart. br My heart, the master artist, love-struck, br Directs my hands to pen what it feels. br br My heart wishes you knew. br My mind wonders if you knew, br What would you do? br Would you love it back? br Would our hearts tread the same track? br Would they make beautiful music? br br Would my heart's cry cease? br br Should I just throw my heart out there br To be trashed and broken br With news it may not be able to bear? br br But, what if the news is good? br br What if I dispel this fear, br Tell me, would you be there? br br - O, the risks.