My love was nothing But a dream of dreams That flowed through your hair Under bright blue skies, That warmed your face, And in your eyes, I could count an infinite list Of our loves souvenirs
Our future and past reeked of our sweat Now a cool mourning mist on old wrinkled hands Our carpets crushed in defeat Paths worn through threads Of our imaginary lands.
Our ceiling of love bowed to our life heavy with moonbeams and our childβs cries. our finest china sang with delight While our kitchen quaked, with sudden desire.
The garments of our home, were miraculous threads, Stained with our song and light, And while we embraced in sleep, my love did lie awake, yet dreaming. my love for you, was a living thing.