Golden light... through the leaves... a perfect morning... Barefoot on the grass, it was soft and it was cool Every single blade a jewel in the quiet of the pool Reflection of a cloud, so slow and so complete The air was tasting sweet, my heart had skipped a beat Then the sky began to weep a single, silent, ruby tear And all I knew of calm just simply disappeared The bloom, the bloom, the bloom... goes grey The bloom, the bloom, the bloom... decays A garden in my hand... slips away, away The colors running, running, running... to a shallow grave A crack along the porcelain, a whisper in the wall The portraits start to fracture and the gilded frames all fall One laughing, gentle echo twists into a frantic cry A perfect, painted iris starts to wither in the eye No gentle fading sunset, just a violent, ripping seam The morning was a fiction, just the prologue to the scream Decay, decay... the bloom Away, away... the bloom The sweetness curdles in the silver spoon And the gentle afternoon turns to a fume, a fume, a fume A feather... a hammer... the silence... the clamor... One second... just one... shatter... All the birds stop singing... The sun goes out... Petals turn to ash now... Without a sound... Without a sound...
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