You pedal home in high gear Passing butterflies and broken glass From long gone stolen cars Wild flowers spreading muggy scents As posters peel from dirty pavements A young boy offers his mother a beautiful weed The meekness in the blossom And the majesty of decay Making you believe that Anything could come to pass this very day Tired tulips bent in sleep A hint of decomposing heaps Of something dank and dark The mesmerising to and fro The vibrant pulse of kelvingrove A young boy offers his mother a beautiful weed The meekness in the blossom