Enter through the gate
The iron’s black and frames the door
Open to the beauty
Not remembered anymore
The strangers always gather
There’s no one there to see
Calling to a ghost
Or a whisper through the trees
Against the rain, the flowers will bloom
Little children, playing in the tombs
Cold and grey, cloudy day
Flowers are red, for the dead
Out beyond the gardens
On the buses and the trains
Walking on the pavement
Walking in the rain
Live as though departed
Even dying unto breath
Living stones and living temples
Passing over death
Against the rain, the flowers will bloom
Little children, playing in the tombs
Cold and grey, cloudy day
Flowers are red, for the dead
No one here, year after year
Stone won’t tell, heaven or hell