We talk of Heaven as if we have seen it,
Is it really a garden, all rosy and moonlit?
I wouldn't know because I wouldn't dare,
For a sinner like me, my garden's all bare.
But yes, I have my own happy place,
My heart holds moments that light up my face,
Heaven was in the bosom of my mother before she put me to bed,
It was in the warm hand my father put over my head.
In the soft embrace of my beloved, in smiles that would linger,
And in the little fist of my child wrapped tightly around my finger.
But there is Hell too, it's really underground,
I wasn't even looking, it was waiting to be found,
Well, this I know because I have been in touch,
With all things dark and now it's just too much,
Beautiful gardens are no home for weeds,
Sooner or later we all suffer for our deeds,
Now I go to bed alone without even a pillow,
And put my hand on my head, my sighs billow,
In the cold, unwelcome folds of my bed,
I lie awake and dream of my child in my head.
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