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