Miss Mary

Little Miss Mary

Your flowers are dead

Their petals are rotten

There are thorns in their beds.

Dancing the waltz

In a dull petticoat

Your feet, they are bleeding

But stop - no, you wont.

Little Miss Mary

I’ve long wondered how

It was you stopped laughing

And fell to the ground.

Only to jump to your feet

And to dance

The song of the graveyard

The death of your plants.

You shattered the faces

Of those you loved first

Tear stains and bruises

But yours is the worst.

The face of a woman

Who sings in the dark

Over and over

Of the death of her heart.