I rest your head against my breast.
I am at sea, at sea, at sea.
I rest your books against my dress,
In the house where we should be.

I took you there, alone and bare,
I carved you from this tree.
I took you there, I took you there
way beyond the green.

In these dangerous landscapes
we dance to a broken violin.
Amongst the tombs of a thousand loves
we store this cure within.

Set above, the seagull cry
The low moan of the machine.
I cast you down, I cast you down
And roam where you have been.

These old stone arches, this bended knee
The knotted bark beneath.
The scarlet of a thousand wars,
The poppy in the wreath.

A small song for you, my love
A piece of my dwelling here.
A garland knotted in my veins,
A house for us, my dear.