On the high pinnacle of power
and under my feet
they grow wild
In the bank's storage room
and the city's new slum
On marble and metal
and plastic so smooth and cold
they spring out
From Mammon's dry fire
they thirst for food
te God
Flowers we never sing
beds where no one lies
signs on the sky's language
we never understood
Flowers we never sang
beds where no one lied
out of our bed God let
a silence grow
In airplanes and terminals
brothels and cathedrals
there they have stood
at the mercy of light and wind
along roads where a blind
has walked
Flowers never me sg...

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