Richard Bryant The Backyard Roses
Richard Bryant His heart is junk, heavy and cold like some old radiator Piled in a heap at her pretty little feet He sets it out with the trash He can't recycle the past There's no return and there's no nickel to get back They left no stone undisturbed, they rocked the bed of roses She pulled the weeds, he punched in the seeds But nothing good came of the work Just some stains on his shirt From diggin round in a big old pile of dirt He hears the sanitation truck grind its gears and hit the curb He hears the sanitation men calling out to her But she won't answer right away Her pretty throat is lined with dirt She's three feet underneath the backyard roses Wrapped in his old shirt His heart is junk, heavy and cold like some old radiator Piled in a heap at her pretty little feet He sets it out with the trash He can't recycle the past There's no return and there's no nickel to get back
