NEW MORNING.   

Sunshine through the Window,
Snow drop in the Valley,
Together with the blue bell,
Only the Birds knew,
When rotting and Splintered was the Tree, 
And Pain was no more,
As We cuddled the Tree,
That New Morning,
Our Morning,
When the Clouds had been lifted,
 Stripped away,

When the Rock burst forth,
In choruses of joy,
Everlasting joy,
For the Gardener had returned,
Bring with Him His Sword,
Septre, and Orb.