Dead Daffodils

Green leaves are turning, and the wind’s picking up

Autumn reminds me of old fashioned stuff

Out of the window, are-a green gazing eyes

Staring at me while I wear my disguise

That’s Mr Foreman, he lives alone

He peers through his window, the rest is unknown

I spoke with the neighbours, they tell me he’s ill

His doorstep is filled, with dead daffodils

Black morning flowers, they thought he had died

A common conception, when hiding inside

Never a letter, or knock at the door

Hard to believe what the flowers lay for

That’s Mr Foreman, he lives alone

His wife was a painter, a long time ago

I spoke with his neighbours, they tell me he’s ill

His doorstep is filled, with dead daffodils

Green leaves are turning, and the wind’s picking up

Autumn reminds me of old fashioned stuff

Out of the window, are-a green gazing eyes

Staring at me while I wear my disguise

That’s Mr Foreman, he lives alone

He needed a coffin, he hand-made his own

I spoke with his neighbours, they tell me he’s ill

His doorstep is filled, with dead daffodils

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