Cartographist

We’ll bathe often in light of the moon
We’ll sew clothes from the stem of our womb
We’ll bathe often in light of the moon
We’ll sew clothes from the stem of our womb
Oh, my sweet fairy
The past is strong, strong, strong
Touch not my bosom for I’ll not get far, far
Color your cartography in your dreams of me
Maps will not lie, will not lie, will not lie in me
Grow into gardens, the caverns you found in me
Heal off the weightless you held from the start of me
Oh, my sweet fairy
Our hearts did us wrong
But rudders of bodies doth carry us on, on
And more moons than our eyes can recount and store
Yet they bid that we see the same things
Sweet, they bid that we swim in their sea
Well then, the amber woods are pouting
Lie down to keep our heads from falling
Give in to these seeds beneath me
Measure that they do in time harvest