I picked a flower from a bush And I loved it so Put it in a vase next to my bed But how was I to know That the flower cried for its bush That the bush cried for its flower But how was I to know That the flower would die in an hour The flower withered away And I put it inside my book Because I loved the flower so But how was I to know That the flower gasped for breath That it was facing death But how was I to know That the flower so badly wanted to go And I kept the flower close to me So that every day I could see But how was I know That the flower that I had loved so Had always hated me That there was pain I couln't see And how was I to know?
