Renaissance Fair - The Byrds

I smell cinnamon and spices

I hear music everywhere

All around kaleidoscope of color

I think that maybe I’m dreaming

Maids pass gracefully in laughter

Wine-colored flowers in their hair

Last call from lands I’ve never been to

I think that maybe I’m dreaming

Suns flash on a sort of prism

Bright jewels on the ladies flashing

Eyes catch on a shiny prism

Hear ye the crying of the vendors

Fruit for sale, wax candles for to burn

Fires flare, soon it will be night fall

I think that maybe I’m dreaming

I think that maybe I’m dreaming

I think that maybe I’m dreaming