Strange are the days, how they seem out of place
Flowers spring in a row, to defeat the ridden snow
Yet they exist without magic or tricks, when by chance loving June
Gasps for air and calls out: Bloom!
Life as is said goes up and down, we walk through the door a second time around
To do what was said but never done
And promise you gardens made of green
Yet we're lost in this tune, just men of the moon
That sing for a world of constant bloom