| And we walked the pagan streams
|
| And searched for white horses on surrounding hills
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| We lived where dusk had meaning
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| And repaired to quiet sleep, where noise abated
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| In touch with the silence
|
| On Honey Street, on Honey Street
|
| What happened to a sense of wonder
|
| On yonder hillside, getting dim
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| Why didn’t they leave us, alone
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| Why couldn’t we just be ourselves
|
| We could dream, and keep bees
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| And live on Honey Street
|
| And we walked the pagan streams
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| In meditation and contemplation
|
| And we didn’t need anybody, or anything
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| Then, no concepts, being free
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| And I wanna climb that hillside again, with you
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| One more time
|
| As the great, great, great, great, great, great, great
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| Being watches over
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| And we repair, repair, repair, shhh, repair, shhh, we repair
|
| To Honey Street, to Honey Street |