Frozen statues in the cold, washed in moonlight blue and gold.
Mary's babe in plastic cape, quiet wonder on her face.
Mary, you look so serene, far too pretty, much too clean.
We might think we know you well, but what stories would you tell?
Of all the dirt and dust and shame, every burning labor pain,
And as I turn to walk away, I hear you say…

I am real.
Don't turn me into memory or myth.
Let me be real. Real.
And I'll show you what it means to love like this.
To be real.

Shepherds bending to the ground, Bethlehem is safe and sound.
Joseph, you look brave and [bad word]  but do we know what it was like to be you?
How many sleepless nights awake found you desperate and afraid?
And as I turn to walk away, I hear you say…

I am real.
Don't turn me into memory or myth.
Let me be real.
And I'll show you what it means to love like this.

To love like you don't even care about the hurry and the hussle,
Like you are unaware [bad word] with so much trouble
Cause you believe a baby came not in paintings or in plains
But every minute, every hour, every day.

To be real,
Real

You are real, real
Show us what it means to love like this.
To be real
To be real
More than a memory,
More than a story.

Real.