If I could sculpt your hands of clay
They would conform to mine
If I could shape your stony heart
Our souls could intertwine
If I could forge your mind anew
I would understand its scope
If I could paint our circumstance
I'd know a shade of hope

If I could change you to be what I want you to be
You would still not be what I want you to be

If portraits were reality
Would they suffer by design?
If an artist's brush could change a man
Would the painting be as fine?

But you are not of clay or stone
The only heart to shape: my own
I can't change the artist's rendering
Nor think about surrendering...

If I could change you to be what I want you to be
You'd just be more like me