Oh, to be a flower bud
Picked from the earth before having the chance to bloom.
What shall I say to you?
"Be happy that you had the chance to be a bud," the choir sings.
Must I nod my head and concede,
While other buds blossom so effortlessly?
Shall I just agree that the Good Lord chose them Himself,
And that you were destined to leave?
Or shall I numb my mind to the tune that you were just unlucky?
I can't help but to believe it was none of these things.
But maybe an error, a mistake,
Too late to correct it seems,
As I watch you succumb to the earth
And listen to the sound of the storm clouds weep.