At the bottom of my garden,
There's a tree that stands alone,
It shelters me from stormy skies
And every year it's grown.

Beneath the lonely tree,
There's a sturdy wooden chair,
I sometimes sit and sing my fears
To a sky that doesn't care.

Beside the sturdy bench,
There's a fountain flowing free,
The water seems to know the rage
That overflows in me.

Opposite the fountain,
There's a creaky little shed,
I locked my pain away in there
In the hope I would forget.

At the bottom of my garden,
There's a world that no one sees,
I go there to find solace
And dream my wildest dreams.