You walked to the bottom of the valley
To see all the flowers below
You saw all the indian paintbrush,
And the bluebells all in a row

You watched as the sun grew colder,
And the shadows, they fell to your knees
You went back to look for the river,
But it was lost in the trees
And you said: Which one would my darling like?

Which ones has she never seen?
Which ones would remind her of nothing,
But forgotten parts of her dreams?
By now you must have been certain

That it had all been a lie
Each sapling and each drop of syrup
Was straight from a demon’s eye
You were left with no choice but to ignore it
Like a child who knows what he knows

Yet you thought: Which way would my darling go?
Which way spells out home?
Which way should I ignore
Lost to forever roam?