In the attics of my life,
Full of cloudy dreams unreal.
Full of tastes no tongue can know,
And lights no eye can see.
When there was no ear to hear, you sang to me.
I have spent my life
Seeking all that's still unsung.
When there was no strings to play, you played to me.
In the book of love's own dream,
Where all the print is blood.
Where all the pag es are my days,
And all my lights grow old.
When I had no wings to fly,
You flew to me,
You flew to me.
In the secret space of dreams,