And in years to come, you'll wander to the place up on our hill
And then you'll cry to our painted sky, "I loved him then, I love him still!"
And you'll strew some sage and lilies and roses where I rot
And then you'll cry to our painted sky, "I loved him then, I love him still!"
And you'll strew some sage and lilies and roses where I rot
Of all the flowers you picked, I knew you would forget
Forget-me-nots