Millions of words and pictures pass me by every single day And this makes me wonder if the value of what you've said has been lessened by the fray Everyday, works of art get built from dust and molds of clay Your words - are they merely part of the ordinary greatness that comes my way? How do you measure infinite? How deep down is the ocean floor? Are our values lost by the ever-growing numbers? How can it be said that 'you are more'? Millions walk this road, I know, and millions, have they known? Your words and mine - would all these words hold value, still, or will they be left to die alone?