Sellers of Flowers

Sellers of Flowers
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LYRICS
The sellers of flowers buy up
old roses
They pull off dead petals, like
old heads of lettuce
And sell 'em as new ones, for
cheaper and fairer
But they die by the morning, so
who is the winner
Not the roses, not the buyers,
not the sellers, maybe winter
'Cause winters coming, soon
after summer
It runs faster, faster, chasing
off autumn
We go from a warm sun to only a
white sun
We go from a large sun to only a
small one
When I was a small girl, I
walked through the market
Holding my dad's hand,
mitten-gloved hand
That night there were roses, lit
up in glass boxes
The heat lamps would keep them
from freezing in winter
We never bought them but
somebody must have
Maybe they made it or maybe they
froze up
Before any person had put them
in water
And hoped that they'd still be
alive by the morning
Who's the winner
Not the roses, not the buyers,
not the sellers,
Not the tellers, of the stories,
Not the fathers, not their
children,
Not those walking on a dark
night,
Through a memory they're
forgetting,
Who's the winner, who's the
winner

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