The poet's voice lingers on His words hang in the air. The ground you walk upon Might as well not be there. Might as well not be there. I'll take you through my dreams Out into the darkest morning. Past the blood filled streams Into the garden of Jane Delawney. Into her garden now. Though the rose is there Don't pluck it as you pass. For a fire will consume your hair And your eyes will turn to glass. Your eyes will turn to glass. In the willow's shade Don't lie to hear it weep. For its tears of gold and jade Will drown you as you sleep. Will you drown now. Jane Delawney had her dreams That she never did discover. For the flow that feeds the stream Is the life blood of her lover. Is the life blood of her lover. And the purifying beam Of the sun will shine here never. While the spirit of her dream In the garden lives forever. Lives forever now.