Something you keep in a box on the street,
Now it's longing for a home.
And who can say what dreams are?
Wake me in time to be lonely and sad...
And who can say what we are?
This is the season for dreaming
And now our bodies are the guilty ones
Who touch, and color the hours.
Night won't breathe
Oh, how we fall in silence from the sky,
And whisper some silver reply.
Oh, our hearts will murmur the blues from on high.
And now, our bodies are the guilty ones--
our touch will fill every hour...