"AMMONIA DRENCHED FLOWERS"

They say if you like a flower let it grow,
Do not pick it before it grows,
I saw pretty flowers grow..
Amongst the silver and the gold,
A silhouette against a reddening sun,
Under my boots the clatter of crumbling rocks,
Trying to find relief why keeping modesty,
A sea of yellow sour flowers fold upon the fields,
As I water them up against the wall,
I ****** upon the flowers,
As pretty as they were,
They fill the air with the pungent scent of ammonia,
A visit from every vagabond, misplaced person, or ghosts in living in shells,
That walked the yellow brick road before I died