I have a pen, she said
But it's broke, it's bereft
Without its hand I don't understand
I don't understand
I'm given in to the deluge of age
sh** off a shovel and sh** by the spade
Where does the colour go
When the flowers grow old?
In my darkest hour
I lie down in the arms of these flowers
The gra** is so soft like hair
In our crumpled skirts we sit there
Wet and licking the quivering air
The voluptuous air
I'm given in to the deluge of age
sh** off a shovel and sh** by the spade
Where does the colour go
When the flowers grow old?
In my darkest hour
I lie down in the arms of these flowers
Herein p**nography
Two tear inevitably
A bu*terfly so delicately
On her wet lips slips
And she s**s it in
And she s**s it in
I'm given in to the deluge of age
sh** off a shovel and sh** by the spade
Where does the colour go
When the flowers grow old?
In my darkest hour
I lie down in the arms of these flowers