HOTFP - rooms

[cbullard@HiWAAY.net (Len Bullard)]

Rooms - len bullard

A meditative space.
A place where people can travel.
A place where people meet Her.
The girl we meet in our dreams.

Hear her music.  See the eyes.  Know Her voice.
Feel The heart of the woman.
Make the Dream.  Make the Dream.
The girl we meet in our dreams.

There are rooms in the house in the trees.
There are doors to these rooms you can open.
There's a book on the bed with it's covers all tattered.
There's a box in the corner with letters, some open.
A white rose by the mirror and brushes and makeup
The loves and the selves and the other and all of her life.

Pictures are gateways to far away adventures
Each just a small turn away.
Go through them.  Find the symbols.
Put them in your pocket.
Take them to the tailor.

In the trees by the garden
Find the secret hidden long ago
In the water see reflections
Of games and song and Pascha
In the attic of the barn is an old organ.
Where a small voice is heard sometimes
Strong and brave and beautiful
Strong and brave and beautiful.

If you see her and you love her
Tend the fire in the corner
Its the light that glows brightly
Its the feeling, loving feeling
That warms the heart of sorrow,
Warms the heart of sorrow.

There are rooms in the house in the trees.
There are doors to these rooms you can open.
There's a book on the bed with it's covers all tattered.
There's a box in the corner with letters, some open.
A white rose by the mirror and brushes and makeup
All the love and the self and the other and all of her life.