I see angels hanging from the trees
I hear psalms of kings through poetry
I make moments out of everything
it feels so warm when I am dreaming
where England's gates are always swinging
through fountains joy is ringing
hillside towns and empty dales
are whispering the winsome tales of William Blake
True love is an art form
temptation is its partner
when I swing you round the chandeliers
we laugh at all life's problems
Where church bells ring out loudly
and people smile so proudly
for nature and its romance
or supernatural circumstance and William Blake
William Blake sitting in the garden
William Blake no familiar jargon
Willam Blake dreaming in the theatre
William Blake don't forget the paint dear
The monarchy is getting old
and bonfires of books are burning coal
imagination's faltering
at night we here the soldiers marching
well England's pubs are thinning out
and station guards are staring down
from chimney tops and cold gray towers
war has come and we need William Blake
William Blake sitting in the garden
William Blake no familiar jargon
William Blake laughing at the unknown
William Blake recites another poem
William Blake dreaming in the theatre
William Blake don't forget the paint dear
William Blake sitting in the garden
William Blake no familiar jargon

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