The garden’s bare, the garden’s cold, Lord,

Nightingales are gone, left the tree.

The garden’s bare, the garden’s cold,

Nightingales are gone, left the tree.

Soon the birds will fly to the south, Lord,

And the old swing waits — but not for me.

Your eyes, they shine like morning,

They warm me like the sun.

Your eyes, they shine like morning,

They warm me like the sun.

But you're a fairy from my childhood —

A story that can't be undone.

The past, it won't let go, now,

The wound stays in my chest.

The past, it won't let go, now,

The wound stays in my chest.

And I still love you, baby,

Though you left me like the rest.