Flowers

We are flowers at the bottom of a mountain.
The water's clean
and the folks we meet smile down on us from above.
Bring the people art, we will spill our hearts
and deliver auditory love.

Hiking both day and night,
drying our tired eyes...
a crooked gait leads crooked ways -
footprints upon your face.
No Wait!
That person it isn't me!
O the Travesty
and the irony that beneath our feet, the soul.

Up as high as we climb,
for a place in the sun -
In a status crusade
we will find none.

12,000 feet -
Population me.
Everyone we know,
can we sing along
sing along as we grow?
That's the kinship we'd shown,
why are we alone?
Where did everybody go?
Where did everybody?

Up as high as we climb,
for a place in the sun -
In a status crusade
we will find none.

We are flowers at the bottom of a mountain.
The water's clean
and the folks we meet smile down on us from above.