| Someone’s been sending me flowers
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| Oh what a sweet thing to do
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| every new day brings another bouquet
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| but I just don’t know who to say thank you to
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| sometimes they’re thrown through my window
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| down through my chimney they fall
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| sometimes at night when I turn out the light
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| they come through a crack in the wall
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| now that my house is a garden
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| bursting with blossoms in bloom
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| I stand there for hours admiring my flowers
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| I’d like to lie down but there’s just isn’t room
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| someone’s been sending me flowers
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| more than I ever have had
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| remarkable stuff but enough is enough
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| if I see another bouquet I’ll go mad.
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| He started by sending me bluebells
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| oddly enough they were grey
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| each faded bloom had a nasty perfume
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| besides being grey they were papier-mâché
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| there followed a garden of fungus
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| and then as a tropical treat
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| he sent me a plant that proceeded to pant
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| and later began to eat meat
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| the cactus corsage touched me deeply
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| beautiful plant in its prime
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| I felt much the same when the rock garden came
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| one rock at a time
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| somebody madly adores me
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| I know not whom to suspect
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| since I cannot afford to be madly adored
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| I do wish you’d stop sending flowers
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| collect |