Flowers for Charlie

born on the bycintinial
in the green gras of the riviera,
a perlecent puburty perhaps,
but i am that man no longr

tho i've yet to remane sober
to cure this ich,
but peece with god has ben made

Grasshopers sit in the maple tree with me
sharing stories and tales of denyall,
but they're to small to ever admit
and I'm to young to grow old,
yet the tick-tick-ticking of my isolation
gives this fever less reeson to pass.

I feel the difference deep inside,
so I keep a distance,
born on the Bicentennial
in the green grass of the Riviera,
I will find my way back
into the hands and the grace of God,
after forty years, I say goodbye.