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You don't remember all the things I've done;
You never catch the careful words I choose;
Your present will not admit my patient efforts...
It's a labour of love I offer to you.
Unselfishness, does that hold the space between us?
A helplessness, a nothing-left-to-prove?
A silence more eloquent than any passion?
It's a labour of love I offer to you...
It's a labour of love.
It's a gift of love.
Take this hand and you will hold its stories;
Beat, the heart, and find the tell-tale truth;
Take this gift: – receipt will give it value.
It's a labour of love I offer to you,
It's a labour of love.
It's a gift of love.