This has no song. I still hope you love it.

A meadow of flowers.
Next to it is a crumbling city.
With a lot of showers.
Full of pity.

It has peril and sadness.
The meadow, joy and hope.
With a hint of madness.
With a clear blue sky to cope.

It holds your hope and joy.
Like a butterfly in the air.
Lies a young boy.
With skin so fair.

A ghost for the future.
Every day a flower is here.
Those are the good you suture.
Even though time here is mere.

You can still come to the meadow silly.
Just follow the singing voice.
Rose or Lilly.
It is your choice.

A fight with no end.
Likewise in the city.
A letter to send.
Send a letter to those you pity.