for no lack of love or money that we burried her below 'neath heaven's hill it's always sunny from her soul three flowers grow first of these a dying daisy petals wilting to the ground some would say she was never lazy truth from me will not be found next of these a yellow rose sight of which might draw a tear some would say she was ever composed truth from my lips you'll not hear last of these a vibrant lily slowly reaching to the sky some would say she only loved me fools like these i won't belie