On your final bed the flowers fall.

Why am I here once more?

Placing flowers on your grave.

By now every flower shop in the town should be sold out.

They outta be burned down, no more flowers for your grave.

No more flowers left in the town. No more valentines, no more birthdays, no more.

One year ago you gave me flowers, pink and white with their own scent mimicking that of a strawberry or peach, I truly loved them.

Now they are from me to you, I hate them. These flowers do not mimic anything besides torment, a black rose buried in the mud and stone.

Please no more flowers, I can not bear to drop them once more.