© Michael Peter Smith
Dew on the secret orchid
Like crying eyes
No thing to bind the heart to
Misted flowers I cannot bear to cut
Beneath West Mountain
The wind blows the rain
I ride a coach with lacquered sides
My love rides a painted horse
Where shall we bind our hearts as one
On West Hill
Beneath the pines and cypresses
Grass like a cushion
Pine like a parasol
Wind is a skirt blowing
The water's a necklace that sparkles and tingles
Beneath West Mountain
The wind rushes the rain
I ride a coach...
A coach with lacquered sides
Waits for someone in the evening
Cold blue candle flame
Reaches to shine bright
Beneath West Mountain
The wind drives the rain
I ride a coach...
Recorded on: There, Paradise Lost and Found
