the market (voice memo)

I know someone who
Always goes to the market by herself
She always picks the
Prettiest flowers off the shelf
One day I asked her why
and she told me, well,
She told me to go to Hell
She said she'd meet me there
Cause she's also going there herself

And everyday she came and she left
And I always saw her with a brand new set of
Flowers from the shelf
Pink and red and white
Brand new colors, every day for night

One day she came to the market
And she got nothing new
She just stared at the flowers and the tears came through
Her eyes
She just stared at the flowers for a few hours and cried
She just stared at the flowers for a few hours and cried

From then on, she never came and never left
And I never saw her with a brand new set of
Flowers from the shelf
Pink and red and white
The brand new colors, every day for night

One day she came through the market again
In a casket, on the way to the funeral she planned
And all the flowers she bought
Were laying in her bed
And I saw there were no more hairs on her head