That picture in your head, the
thought that you have that,
all roses are red and
most violets are blue.

Why have you still got it there?
don't you understand?
Where the flowers once stood, where the woods met the stream,
it all belongs to a dream from some story book.

We saw through but did not look beyond the edges of our eyes,
surprise,  sur-feckin-prise,
there's nothing left to see now
we left it far too late now and how
we mourn the loss.