The flowers in my parent's yard
On a grey day
I stick my finger in the planter
With the roses
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A heavy looking, silver cloud
Above the treeline
A golfer tees off, I hear the ball
And its echo
And its echo
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The smell of supper how it drifts
Down the breezeway
Sally trots to the gate
Her tail wagging
I think I've lost it and it's okay
I am learning
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Going forward
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Going forward
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Going forward
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Going forward
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Going forward
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Going forward
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Going forward
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Going forward
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Going forward
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Going forward
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Going forward
♪
Going forward