Here's my story of "The Girl With Flowers."

You tell a story of another time.
You tell a story that isn't mine.
But I will listen.

A girl dances barefoot here.
Flowers wound in her hair.
Her eyes glisten innocence.

Meadows, breeze, and a distant rope.
They hang her, hate her, 'till she chokes.
A bird sings a tune.

She leaves fighting, she goes mad.
He was all she ever had.
All she had ever held on to.

What we love will die first.
It quenches the worlds undying thirst.
The dancing ceases.

I tell a story of another time.
I tell a story quite defined.
But no one will listen.

My words go unheard.
My words are from another world.
When I read this they still won't listen.

Who will read this when I'm gone?
Who will understand my song?
Who will appreciate my hours?

A penny for my thoughts.
All pre-packaged and well bought.
Just like my girl with flowers.

Just like the girl with flowers.