With cheeks made of roses
And body made of buds
The boy’s flower stature
Will become a body made of blood

With a smile as big as can be
His joy outshines the skies
But soon the skies get older
And the sun continuously dies

With dilating pupils
His excitement never ends
Until the masses are thrust upon him
And his eyes don’t comprehend

No, no one comprehends how this young boy
Couldn’t handle his budding flower with ease
As it is, no one blames themselves
For his budding blood disease

With withering petals
His flower is no more
But no shame, no shame
He’s at the flower store

With the masses expecting this little flower to bud again
In summertime that is, with the sun in his eyes
But oh how they don’t know
That his sun dies

And maybe it’s because no one notices that the little flower never buds
And maybe it the because the masses could never see
How cheeks made of roses could lead to such things
But now that little flower ceases to be.