So many springtime loves die during winter.
How I fear myself—how I fear everything.
So many springtime loves die during winter.
How I fear myself and us.
What would be—what would be our first morning broken apart
without your hand slipping again into my hand?
What would be—what would be the wonderful garden of night
without your life intertwined with my life?
So many springtime loves die during winter.
How I fear myself—how I fear everything.
So many springtime loves die during winter.
How I fear myself and us.
I would like—I would like to know the secret of love
spoken about by the legends of days gone by.
I would like—I would like to love you until the end of our days,
sheltered from life and from time.