The pink blossoms turns into shades of grey,
Over the green grass it turns into hay,
No longer is there the sun of tomorrow,
Just little clouds of yesterdays sorrow..
Pinkies nor winkies, that ain't going to work
because those are little words that we say,
It ain't easy nor is it hard,
but those little pinklets has faded in color,
It's no longer the pink that we cover,
With memories that painted a golden picture,
Pinklets whispered, I will never leave you,
but little lies of tomorrow's pleasure..
It's just like a drought that hits in September,
You can't see nor can you feel,
All you do is wish for the rain..
But you don't know cause you're not up there..
And there it is, he forgot about me.
