Enter through the gate The iron's black and frames the door Open to the beauty Not remembered anymore The strangers always gather There's no one there to see Calling to a ghost Or a whisper through the trees
Against the rain, the flowers will bloom Little children, playing in the tombs
Cold and grey, cloudy day Flowers are red, for the dead
Out beyond the gardens On the buses and the trains Walking on the pavement Walking in the rain Live as though departed Even dying unto breath Living stones and living temples Passing over death
Against the rain, the flowers will bloom Little children, playing in the tombs
Cold and grey, cloudy day Flowers are red, for the dead No one here, year after year Stone won't tell, heaven or hell