He said
“You're too late, I'm afraid, this flower's already dead.”

Scattering petals down the road without an end (road without an end)
Left on the battleground for one I called my friend (one I called my friend)
Maybe he loved me as he took me by the hand
And tried to understand

I said
“Oh Mary, contrary, how does your garden grow?
Stay with me, I can't see, anywhere that we could go.”
Their answer, was laughter, as darkness swallowed them up
“One morе time, I'll be fine, somеtimes kindness is enough.”

“Oh Mary, contrary, how does your garden grow?
Don't leave me, please don't be, the seventh maid in a row.”
My answer, a whisper, soft as he lowered his head
Set them free. I'm sorry, this flower's already dead...”