SMALL GIFTS
It's another Friday, breathing the air, Light and shadow are playing "tag" again. The table is set, childhood photos on the wall, White processions are returning from synagogue, And that smell which scratches my heart Sneaking in and opening doors To a small joy, to the same old song which is being passed along for generations.
Chorus Small gifts Someone has sent me small gifts Fragments of intent, circles of faith Small gifts Such as the power to accept what doesn't exist and what does exist What else could you possibly ask for? End Chorus
It's another Friday, balcony and newspaper, The sun, like worries, is slowly being erased, simple melodies crawl out the window and there is no longer any storm which can hide the silence here.
Chorus
For thou hast chosen us and sanctified us... Blessed art thou, G-d, sanctifier of the Sabbath.
And that smell which scratches my heart Sneaking in and opening doors To a small joy, to the same old song which is being passed along for generations.
Chorus
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