A box full of treasure and a golden comb

I was surely give to you when the moon is [young?]

And Christmas is in June.



I will paint an evening of which there will be few,

When the sky is water and the sun is blue,

And all this is just for you.



A handkerchief of silver to brush away your tear,

A sword of finest leather to match your paper spear,

For when the day draws near.



When I will write these words in languages unknown

I'll be the one to tell you your heart is made of stone

And Christmas will never be in June.