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The bent twig of darkness |
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Grows the petals of the morning; |
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It shows to them the birds singing |
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just behind the dawning. |
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Come dip into the cloud cream lapping; |
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I can't keep my hand on the plough |
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Because it's dying. |
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But I will lay me down with my arms |
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round a rainbow, |
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And I will lay me down to dream. |
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Oh, will your magic Christmas tree be shining |
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Gently all around? |
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Climbing up these figures |
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The sun is tugging at my shoulder. |
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And, every step I take, |
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I think my feet are getting older. |
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I see the crystal dreams unfolding, |
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I can't keep my eyes on the book because it's mouldring. |
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But I will lay me down with my arms |
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round a rainbow, |
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And I will lay me down to dream. |
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Oh, will your magic Christmas tree be shining |
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Gently all around? |
