Walking along,

a tulip in her hand,

swing oh swing, the road is long,

longer than the oceans of blindness,

that she has crossed to come to you...

Often she says "the woods are deep",

deeper than thoughts sleeping on a sandy beach,

where crystals washed a million times,

beneath diamonds in a purple sky

must wait for the sun to rise...

Only she knows,

only she can know,

from the other side of the street,

she comes to you,

a tulip in her hand...