A white dead flower

She picked a flower by the road,
a white, dead, flower,
beneath the wandering moon,
a white, dead, flower,
she brought it home,
a white, dead, flower,
she put it in a vase,
a white, dead, flower
and it flourished again,
the white, dead, flower.

A white, living, flower.

But why could not her love
flourish again?

In the vase of her heart
a dying flower.

-Inspirado en "Glass No Ie"-