Flora Barone hates to see how old she's grown.
Coloured the window, shattered the glass,
Covered her body with objects from the past.
Her mother starred in a vaudeville show.
Her hair was famous, as white as snow.
Men gave her gifts, all for a curl,
She passed them on to her little girl.
Flora walking down the street.
Flora Barone, I'm with you my sweet.
Flora walking down the street.
Flora Barone, I'm with you my sweet.
Her wedding day to her husband, Bill
Was the happiest day, her heart was filled.
He gave her a slip, the colour of the sky
The same as her majestic eyes.
When she died Flora's hair was rich,
With silk flowing ribbons, and diamond encrusted clips.
Flora's daughter was constantly ill.
Instead of toys, she has brightly colored pills.
A patchwork quilt, it covered her bed,
And whenever Flora washed it, the water bled red.
Flora walking down the street.
Flora Barone, I'm with you my sweet.
Flora walking down the street.
Flora Barone, I'm with you my sweet.
Flora Barone hates to see how old she's grown.
Coloured the window, shattered the glass,
Covered her body with objects from the past.
Flora walking down the street.
Flora Barone, I'm with you my sweet.
Flora walking down the street.
Flora Barone, I'm with you my sweet.