Past the ivy-covered windows of the angel

Down Athenaeum Lane to the cathedral

Through the churchyard I wandered

Sat for a spell there and I pondered

My back to the gates, my back to the gates

My back to the gates of the garden

Fugitive fathers, sickly infants, decent mothers

Runaways and suicidal lovers

Assorted boxes of ordinary bones

Of aborted plans and sudden shattered hopes

In unlucky rows, in unhappy rows

In unlucky rows, up to the gates of the garden

Won't you meet me at the gates?

Won't you meet me at the gates?

Won't you meet me at the gates to the garden?

Beneath the creeping shadow of the tower

The bell from St. Edmunds informs me of the hour

I turn to find you waiting there for me

In sunlight and I see the way that you breathe

All alive and the leaning, alive and the leaning

All alive and the leaning, leaning on the gates to the garden

Leave these ancient places to the angels

Let the saints attend to the keeping of their cathedral

And leave the dead beneath the ground so cold

For God is in this hand that I hold

As we open up the gates, as we open up the gates

We open up the gates to the garden

Won't you meet me at the gates?

Won't you meet me at the gates?

Won't you meet me at the gates to the garden?