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Sometimes you're born to die young
Old age is only one way to die
As the wind tears the tree's leaves off the top of a branch
I remember his face very clearly
As he stared beyond the TV
With a pre-recorded baseball game
And the drink glued to his hands
He said his Catholic priest came by
Got him a spot in the afterlife
He could hardly move
One might describe him as a fish out of water
I drove around in Jersey and noticed that the faded violet wrinkles
Of the moon peeking through the sky above the highway was suddenly blooming
Blooming Blooming x 2
(The moon was trying to creep in)
At the ending of flower's life it scatters in the summer light
Transforming to something true and he knew
Thats he would soon meet God
When I walked up to the last place he would lie
His hands were holding a white rose
And I wondered what would happen to his ghost
I closed both my eyes to see right through
The bloom was breathing, the bloom was breathing
The bloom was breathing, the bloom was breathing
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