Plastic Flowers

The graveyard of all the songs that no one remembers,
There's a headstone for this one,
where I lay plastic flowers in the corner,
against a bush that soon overgrew it,
so that nobody knew it,
that I wrote this for you.

The graveyard of all the songs that now lie forgotten,
I've reserved my own section,
but there are no plots left open,
so I'll scatter the ashes of a stillborn confession,
with a few hopeful verses,
that I once wrote for you.

There's a heaven for all the songs that someone's still humming,
as they're washing the dishes,
as they're lost in reflection.
If I know you,
you're somewhere singing,
this much is certain,
that it's off in the distance,
that it's some other chorus,
that there's no one to witness,
like a sound in the forest,
or the way plastic flowers still hold their colour.