On the first day of our life (the life that's ours
and the one that smiles from behind your secret tree)
my true love gave me one blurry nightmare:

I couldn't look up into the distance,
where someone I knew and wanted to know,
walked up stairs, easily--

Stairs which required my deliberation,
hand on rail,
to climb.

Hear the bells (could they be bells)
I can't see what you can tell
or maybe what you tell is all I see.

We assume my true love is the part
of you that I know;
the part that could give me one golden ring.

But in the dream you board a bus
that I can only see
through the blanket that covers my closed eyes.

The bus slides by a field
(I wish I could see where you go)
full of tall, dead trees.

My true love is the part
of you I wish I knew;
the part that would never give me a ring.

Where the dead trees are left standing,
I could sit and eat fruit
that I bought at the market down the street.