Through dreams I learnt to live
And in waking how to die
The golden hand of the morning sun
Would pull, tear and rive
Culling my verve, plucking life away
Time spent nether the burning sun
Never seems worth staying awake

I have seen the land of roses
Whilst skimming the blue tract
I know how Albion looks
Two hundred metres up

Towers that sink into the soil
Transposing themselves as trees  
All wonderful things i have seen
Through nightly visions and dreams