The beginning began on a morning new
And sang the songs of faeries and dew
A lovely dream of watches too
And empty was the milieu

So does abruptly start the tale
Of how the madman drove the gale
Like travelling down an abandoned rail
Or a secret told to no avail

A dream to live, a dream to have
A font for which the soul to bathe
Walk along the winding path
And suffer through the aftermath

Slowly, now, these bones grow cold
Another body's growing old
A lovely hand, to have, to hold
Ending in a burst of gold