Orchard Gate

At the orchard gate today

Was that tomorrow?

Istenem, make a fire

Kiss your heart

Risha, Arabic for feather

In this way, my love

Whispers to me

Warm, beloved and still

In this way, my love

Come to me

In a language of two hands

It is a strange poetry

She is turning, turning in

From all the temples of old

From all the holds in which it's stowed

Turning into gold in his way through

A sacred dimension

Not by might nor by power by his spirit

His loving intention, His loving intention

And in this way, my love

Whispers to me

Warm, beloved and still

In this way, my love

Come to me

In a language of two hands

It is a strange poetry

See the golden chariot wheel

It glitters down

To the bottom of the red sea deep

I see the end now

Entertaining thoughts of sleep

In this way, my love

Whispers to me

Warm, beloved and still

In this way, my love

Come to me

She is turning

She is turning in

In the language of two hands

She is turning in

She is turning

Turning into gold