Hyacinths are blue for a bright chanteuse,
Silent white in a crowd of colours,
Holding a bouquet of crow black dreams,
Waiting for an emerald tip in a ruby slip,
To bury these ragtime riches deep.

Through the darkest mirrors and with love,
I’m a whole reflection smiling at a moment,
Chasing a velveteen rabbit across the sky,
Falling stars become wishes in my hands,
Waiting patiently for them to come true.

The Faeries’ road opens, but footfalls are scarce,
Idle dreams don’t abandon fated dreamers,
With carrilon brass hands around my neck,
Catching up with music set upon the wind,
Fly away from the veil of tears they gave you.