Uploaded June 2025 | Updated September 2026, 1 week ago

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Lyric: Oscar Wilde

The lily's falling, soft and slow,
Like a chalice made of snow.
Dusty gold beneath the light,
Shadows dancing into night.

Hear the garden sigh and spin,
Autumn sliding down my skin.

Roses lying on the grass,
Like crimson silk from seasons past.
Dead leaves whisper as they fall,
Beauty fading after all.

The sunflower's black, the stems are bare,
Wind blows secrets through the air.
Privet petals turn to mist,
Love like this can't long exist.

Touch the bloom that won't return,
Feel the ache of things that burn.

Roses lying on the grass,
Like crimson silk from seasons past.
Time unravels all we weave,
Even stars must take their leave.

The lily's falling…
The silk is gone…
The garden sings its silent song...