In The Arms Of Flowers

I had a pen she said
But it's broke it's bereft
Without it's hand I don't understand
I don't understand

I'm giving in to the deluge of age [bad word] off a shovel
And [bad word] by the spade
Where does the colour go when flowers grow old?
In my darkest hour I lie down in the arms of these flowers

But the grass is so soft like hair
In our crumpled skirts we sit there
Wet and licking the quivering air
The voluptuous air

I'm giving in to the deluge of age [bad word] off a shovel
And [bad word] by the spade
Where does the colour go when flowers grow old?
In my darkest hour I lie down in the arms of these flowers

Herein pornography
Two tear inevitably
butterfly so delicately
On her wet lips slips and she sucks it in
And she sucks it in