He kneels at the shrine and weeps
What wrong have I done
What wrong have I done
What wrong have I done
What wrong have I done

You can touch lip to lip
Locked together in the throes of passion
You can taste the heights of bliss
In moments so tender
But you will never touch That
Thus
Though it will be a pointer, a glimpse.

You can write poems and prose
Weave together a magical sequence of notes
But everything that you create will be another thing added to the world's contents
And you will never touch That
Thus