Author: Thomas Thurman

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The fall will unwind
the shrivelling day,
the works of my mind
the fall will unwind,
the key left behind
and longing for May:
the fall will unwind
the shrivelling day.

For you
my dear
anew
for you
all through
the year;
for you
my dear.

As the drawing shall tell
and the paper responds,
some enchantment just fell,
as the drawing shall tell…
in a paper for spell
with your pencils as wands,
as the drawing shall tell
and the paper responds.

I heard this tale about a queen
whose anger rose against a cliff
she coloured crimson, shade unclean.
I heard this tale about a queen…
I think I’d cleanse it back, with green
and live with you beside it, if
I heard this tale about a queen
whose anger rose against a cliff.

Before the sun begins to set
we’ll share another cup of tea;
the kettle’s never settled yet
before the sun begins to set,
and every morning since we met
you’ve shared your joyful life with me;
before the sun begins to set
we’ll share another cup of tea.

Since the day doesn’t store,
and the seconds can’t stay,
each moment’s no more.
Since the day doesn’t store,
when you’re seventy-four,
I’ll kiss you good day;
since the day doesn’t store.
and the seconds can’t stay.

Asleep in your bed
with the smoke of your hair
where dreams lie unsaid
asleep in your bed;
the fires in your head
who create and prepare
asleep in your bed
with the smoke of your hair.

The smoke of your hair
in your sleep, in your bed
is strewn through the air.
The smoke of your hair
from the fires within, where
new worlds will be bred:
the smoke of your hair
in your sleep, in your bed.

The fall will unwind
the shrivelling day,
the works of my mind
the fall will unwind,
the key left behind
and longing for May:
the fall will unwind
the shrivelling day.