Portrait of the pain never answers back
Smiles change into a sneer washed away by whiskey tears
The painter paints his brushes back, through the canvas runs a crack
Dull the pain of living as they slowly die
And the stone stares at the sculptor asks "Are you absurd?"
Learn too much to ever understand
Not a pause to hold the rose, even she no longer knows
And they argue through the night, black is black and white is white
Tattered shreds of petals leave a fading trail
But nobody's buying flowers from the flower lady
But nobody's buying flowers from the flower lady
Never found their pot of gold, wrinkled hands pound weary holes
And the flower lady hobbles home without a sale
Kisses crumble in a web of loneliness
Strangers in a foreign land, strike a match with a trembling hand
Smoke dreams of escaping souls are drifting by
It's written by the poison pen, voices break before they bend
In the quicksand of their mind they disappear
Sarcastic students tell them not to fight no more
The door is slammed, it's over once again
Poets agonize they cannot find the words
The lamp goes out the evening now is closed
But nobody's buying flowers from the flower lady
But nobody's buying flowers from the flower lady
Still nobody's buying flowers from the flower lady
Each line screams out you're old, you're old, you're old
Complain about the present using memories
Lover's quarrel, snarl away their happiness
Soldiers disillusioned to come home from the war
Walk away both knowing they are alright
But nobody's buying flowers from the flower lady
Feeble, aged a-people almost to their knees
