Rich Mullins V1 C V2 C [V1] I sit on a piano stool, and I make up songs for these men Who come in with dust on their faces and mud on their boots From these places that I'll never go. I sleep in a rented bed, with a woman who gives me What little I get of the love that we'd like to imagine Is left of the love that we never did know. I slip out and scribble a note that reads like a million bucks. It's a four cent nickel for my dime store thief But it sure reads good [C] And If I could make it work in life (Make it work in life) Like it works on paper. (Works on paper) If the love that I describe (Love that I describe) Could be anything but words Then I would wipe my eyes, I'd dry this ink, I'd trade my pen in on a pair of wings. And I would (I would) I would fly (I would fly) If I could only make it work in life [V2] And at the end of every night, I add up the tips That account for what might not come down to a thing That amounts to a life, and the sum of it all I'm afraid is less than what I know I need to slip beneath the surface of my forgeries Where I buried my hopes with sometimes my dreams Still stir me and steal me away. And I can still hear Dineh Bikeyah call Just like when we were kids. And I could tell you all about it in a song. But Lord, I wish that