Three Dreamers - Bert Jansch

Under the archway across the cold courtyard

Up the stone stairway all pitted and worn

To a room in a shambles with orange-boxes for chairs

Our lives lay scattered still yet to be born

Now daylight would show you the cracks in the ceiling

Wallpaper hanging all tattered and torn

It looks like a junkyard of paraphernalia

Where three dreamers dreamed dreams still yet to be born

No one was a dreamer, a love-torn romantic

Who sang ballads of barons and ladies forlorn

Who carved love-chains of oakwood to capture his sweethearts

And life lay before him still yet to be born

The other was a maker of dreams from his fingers

Like a harp from old Ireland that would play night and morn

He could weave you and spin you a yarn to remember

And leave you with sweet dreams still yet to be born