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Love is a tanglewood tree in a bower of green |
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In a forest at dawn |
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Fair while the mockingbird sings, but she soon lifts her wings |
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And the music is gone |
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Young lovers in the tall grass with their hearts open wide |
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When the red summer poppies bloom |
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But love is a trackless domain, and the rumor of rain |
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In the late afternoon |
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Love is an old root that creeps through the meadows of sleep |
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When the long shadows cast |
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Thin as a vagrant young vine, it encircles and twines |
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And it holds the heart fast |
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Catches dreamers in the wildwood with the stars in their eyes |
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And the moon in their tousled hair |
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But love is a light in the sky, and an unspoken lie |
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And a half-whispered prayer |
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I'm walkin' down a bone-dry river but the cool mirage runs true |
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I'm bankin' on the fables of the far, far better things we do |
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I'm livin' for the day of reck'ning counting down the hours |
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I yearn away, I burn away, I turn away the fairest flower of love |
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'Cause darling love is a garden of thorns, and a crow in the corn |
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love's garden of thorns, how it grows, black crow in the corn hummin' low |
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And the brake growing wild |
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brake nettle so pretty and wild and thistles surround the edge of the |
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Cold when the summer is spent, in the jade hearts' lament |
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dark hour as the sun moves away, lamenting a lost summer day |
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For the faith of a child |
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who nurtures the faith of a child when nothing remains to cover her eyes? |
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My body has a number and my face has a name |
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my body has a number, maybe my face has a name |
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And each day looks the same to me |
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each hour like each hour before |
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But love is a voice on the wind, and the wages of sin |
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this longing is a voice on the wind, she cultivates the wages of sin |
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And a tanglewood tree |
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in a tanglewood tree |
