Past the graveyard down the road,
Lives or dies a man out cold
Every minute is a burning desire
For him to feel there's nothing higher.
Hope he knows is also despair,
The lie of the land begins to stare
Every minute is a burning desire
For him to feel there is nothing higher.
Will any hand rise from the many dead?
Maybe it's time to be quiet instead
Breath continues no more so
The dead is the living let the dying grow
The man with nothing in him to feel
A sorrow or regret meaningless to conceal
Yet every minute is a burning desire
For him to feel there's nothing higher!

I feel the bushes green all around
The light feeds my sensation with care
The last remorse has left me in doubt
But I clear the picture of its follow-through
To look around for roses and flowers
To caress the wounded soldier with gifts
Would stop the mindless war and wall
And empty the vessel of the touch of lips
The gentle breeze reminds me dear
That I need to look for the rare in kind
A flower is not a flower in colour
But the one that leaps to the heart to flower
Touches mine not the whims of sweets
Or the look that carries with it deceit
I find at least a rose not bright
But a grey rose that gives my heart delight.