Into this park I reluctantly stroll,
Into this haven among the hills, alongside the boy with God’s silent will,
Need I ask, need I question, need I wonder why,
I look away to heaven as these mortals cry,
A mortal king, a noble knight, a silent darker day,
A wanderer, a wild girl, a boy who could not stay,
The lilies of gold are colder than snow,
except to the wanderer who loves to know,
His iron will, his soft, silent ways,
Disguised in a costume, set in a maze,
I’ll run my hands along his fields,
I’ll stand in his wind as she does as she will.
A silent stroll in the afternoon,
A blanket of white spread out too soon,
Strolling in the shadows, this mortal and me,
Strolling in a dream, that’s just as it seems.
I run to the trees to climb their strength,
To sit at the top, to cry and pray,
I open my heart to God’s silent hands,
And ask that he cherish this holy land,
What is this? There’s something more?
Life loves to love the pretty and poor,
Every year grows brighter with riches at bay,
But this poor pauper only runs away,
Away I tumble from lights long hill,
To punish myself, to weaken my will,
Away I fall, disgracing grace,
To be alone, to run the race.
Yet God loves me still, and I can’t know why,
He loves to love the poor and the shy,
Yet I punish myself for he takes no part,
In ruining the lame and destroying the heart,
I look back in my mind to wonder why,
I turn away from the mortals who cry,
I ran away before he left,
So he’ll never know this cowards theft,
I walk alone in my minds twisted park,
To ward off happiness, to cry in the dark,
God hold your children who punish themselves,
Who hide on the bottom of life’s crooked shelves,
God love your children who wander alone,
Whose hearts bloom hemlock, whose souls bloom stone,
God carry the infant born behind bars,
a pauper, a poor man, who feasts on the stars.