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Every inch of anguish
Laid out side by side
Cannot make a full yard
In the measure of our lives
Every coin of sorrow
Weighed upon the beams
Rises when the far side
Is freighted by our dreams
Well the night is rich
As we stop to look around
Yes I believe it is
As we pause to hear the sound
All weâve lost is nothing to what we found
All weâve lost is nothing to what we found
Every dying ember
Every setting sun
Cannot cast a shadow
On the race that we have run
Every paper dollar
Counted over twice
Cannot buy our gladness
Cannot pay our price
Well the night is rich
As we stop to look around
Yes I believe it is
As we pause to hear the sound
All weâve lost is nothing to what we found
All weâve lost is nothing to what we found