Dreaming in the winding streets,
The beggar plays his violin,
His dog sits haggard next to him
As serpents writhe for lack of heat

In the shadowed valleys of a troubled mind,
The dark is banished by a single light
So free of vice, so purely right…
And the madman’s silent screams unwind

For far away, in a murdered wood,
In the darkened ruin a fountain plays,
And the serpent’s tail so slowly strays
From the shadowed valleys in search of good

There’s no pure good in these winding streets;
Troubled dreams alone can live that lie.
The dog lets out a long, pained cry,
And the shadows writhe for lack of heat.