A flower sat deep in a mountain hole,
he kept his goals sacred and his petals whole.
They said he was a dreamer,
that had kept his feelings in and became a little meaner.

He was as nice as an angel,
well at first that's what it seemed.
Because he became a flower,
in what he wanted as a dream.

Then one day as he bloomed,
a fish that looked like the sky,
put a cast of magic into his eye,
and just as soon as death came apon him,
just like the wind,
you can never, ever predict its course.