[Verse 1] February. Somebody gave me a heart. Porcelain, cracked, put back together with gold. She said, you can put something in it. Or hang it. Or leave it on the table. I left it on the table. [Chorus] Somebody else's flowers. Somebody else's flowers. [Verse 2] Another city, a month or two later. A bouquet too big to be polite about. I carried it home on a night train, holding it like a child. And I don't even like cut flowers. I know how that goes. [Chorus] Somebody else's flowers. Somebody else's flowers. [Verse 3] I hung it upside down in the hall and waited for it to finish. Then I put what was left in the heart. [Verse 4] A protea in the aorta. Dry stalks in the arteries. White, weightless, sticking out everywhere. It looked like the thing had started growing. It looked ridiculous. [Bridge] So I took them out. No reason. April, maybe. They just stuck out wrong. [Chorus] Somebody else's flowers. Somebody else's flowers. Somebody else's flowers. Somebody else's flowers. [Outro] Now it stands on the kitchen table between the vitamin D and the magnesium. Empty. Every crack still showing. Every crack still holding. And I like it better this way.
