the street’s deserted here
at would-be bedtime,
the sky has laid its blanket
o’er my head
it tells a tale
of wonder and of splendor,
of tables made of stars
and gingerbread
and as the wind blows chill
i dream of fireside,
and tales of castles,
palaces and kings
the world is empty, here
at would-be bedtime,
the perfect time for all
fantastic
things
