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"-
