By Dimitri Shostakovich. If I could give my mom the worldOr anything she wanted,I'd give her my own heart and soulAnd leave my own heart haunted. I'd take upon myself her lifeWith all its strife and pain,And let her ease into some spaceWhere she could live again. The pain for me would not be pain,At least not for a while;For I'd be doing it for her,And I would see her smile. I wish that I could take her heartAnd cleanse it with my tears,And make her sorrow go away,And answer all her fears. I wish, I wish, but then I can't,As I watch helplessly,And take her in my arms and sayI wish that it were me. But loving is a hard, hard way,With all the pain it brings.And yet there is no other wayTo touch the heart of things.How Can You Know How Much You Mean to Me By Dimitri Shostakovich.How can you know how much you mean to me?After all the heartache, there is love.Pierce life, and you are where the angels move,Praising with their joy the mystery.You know well the cost of sacrifice,Mothering the wounded as you bleed,Opening your anguish to their need,Taking heed of neither pain nor price.How you have paid, dear soul, for that abandon!Even as you've sunk into despair.Reason has no reason to be there'Ere love supply the grace, well-earned or wanton.So let me show you how you look from here,Depicted as an icon dearly treasured,An image of an ecstasy unmeasured,Yearning with more need than it can bear.

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