Last night your poseys smelled like liliacs
your muddy waters looked so clean
that I pulled your scarlet ribbon
and listened to you sing.
Melodies from heaven
carried on a breeze
settled on your ruby lips
and whispered in my dreams.
But morning shows your wrinkles
and the hardness in your eyes
is bound to be from knowing
all my talk was pretty lies.
So when the whistle starts to blowing
and you know I'm on my way
won't you grab a bunch of poseys
and place them where we've laid.
Then sing of scented liliacs
on the early morning breeze
and I'll be listening from the rail car
at the station as it leaves.



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