Off the piazza’s a room filled with roses Forbidden to me in my curious state Here there are bars and some rings in the walls Everything’s yellow and orange and dull But John says the roses will wait The roses will wait

This is the room where they keep the mad women Who’re dreaming of wallpaper blooms And all your concerns about all our conditions Are bricks in the walls of our tomb

Between the echoes of our decay (the echoes of our decay) We learn what is fleeting and what will stay

So I take phosphates or phosphites, whatever And tonics and journeys and air I’m forbidden to work but allowed exercise If I wish to write then I have to be sly But still, the garden is there The garden is there

BRIDGE In my hysteria In my delirium Who waits behind the wallpaper? (waits) So full of humors Object of rumors, Who shakes behind the wallpaper? (shakes) I have false and foolish fancies I’m prescribed more rest, more brandy Who will peel it off and walk by day? (and walk by day)

This is the room where they keep the mad women Who’re dreaming of wallpaper blooms And all your concerns about all our conditions Are bricks in the walls of our tomb

Between the echoes of our decay (the echoes of our decay) We learn what is fleeting and what will stay