| Oh, no!
|
| There goes, there goes my head
|
| There goes my head
|
| Throw ten on in, in the swear jar
|
| In the swear jar
|
| Outside storms cry, inside now
|
| Not much better, stormy weather
|
| I am writing a song book on a mountain
|
| In the garden where we built a home
|
| Black flowers
|
| In the stories, the lies that they wrote
|
| Escape me
|
| And the winged horses that we once rode
|
| Have stopped breathing
|
| In the garden where we built a home
|
| Black flowers
|
| One, two, three, four
|
| In the garden where we built a home
|
| And the stories, the lies that they wrote
|
| And the winged horses that we once rode
|
| Are all strung out and spun out y’know
|
| In the garden where built a home
|
| And the roads that we built all corrode
|
| In the garden where we built a home
|
| Once a river, a sea now a mote
|
| And the black flowers grow all around
|
| And the angels who died in our sound
|
| Now nothing will come of this now
|
| For nothing can grow from the ground
|
| And no one we know now will save us
|
| Like no one we know would try
|
| Like everything once is now over
|
| Just as everything once has died
|
| In the garden where we built a home
|
| And all those we kept in tow
|
| The weeper with his tiny piano
|
| The willow with her singing saw
|
| The jeweler with her cast iron hammer
|
| Oh, the ivy, the crows, and the law
|
| In the garden where we built a home
|
| All’s dark inside the tower
|
| In the garden where we built a home
|
| Black flowers
|
| Black flowers
|
| Black flowers
|
| Black flowers
|
| Black flowers
|
| Black flowers
|
| Black flowers
|
| Black flowers |