| I’m home again in my old narrow bed
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| Where I grew tall and my feet hung over the end
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| The low beam room with the window looking out
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| On the soft summer garden
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| Where the boys grew in the trees
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| Here I grew guilty
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| And no one was at fault
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| Frightened by the power in every innocent thought
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| And the silent understanding passing down
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| From daughter to daughter
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| Let the boys grow in the trees
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| Do you go to them or do you let them come to you
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| Do you stand in back afraid that you’ll intrude
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| Deny yourself and hope someone will see
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| And live like a flower
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| While the boys grew in the trees
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| Last night I slept in sheets the colour of fire
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| Tonight I lie alone again and curse my own desires
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| Sentenced first to burn and then to freeze
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| And watch by the window
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| Where the boys grew in the trees |