The bent twig of darkness
Grows the petals of the morning;
It shows to them the birds singing
just behind the [bad word] dip into the cloud cream lapping;
I can't keep my hand on the plough
Because it's dying.

But I will lay me down with my arms
round a rainbow,
And I will lay me down to dream.
Oh, will your magic Christmas tree be shining
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Gently all around?

Climbing up these figures
The sun is tugging at my shoulder.
And, every step I take,
I think my feet are getting older.
I see the crystal dreams unfolding,
I can't keep my eyes on the book
because it's mouldring.

But I will lay me down with my arms
round a rainbow,
And I will lay me down to dream.
Oh, will your magic Christmas tree be shining
Gently all around?