Every day I wade through muddy waters deep.
Without this wanting, will I soon be free?
Itâs hard to know,
harder not to know.
And, if you lose yourself to love just once more,
is the servant of your vision at the door?
Heâs brought shadows for your flowersâ¦.
In the absence of fear,
beauty will appear,
though this beauty is not mine.
Itâs hard to love,
harder not to love,
everything thatâs ever come before,
as the universe exhales just once more,
in time for recovery.
Itâs always winter inside every heart of gold;
for summer hearts are just longing for the cold.
Heat for the young,
winter for the old,
soul, whose grown tired of his skin,
who generates the warmth to rise again.
And, if you lose yourself to love just once more,
will the servant of your vision kick down the door,
and bring shadows for your flowers?