In the storm the flowers grew,
They created ugly faces.
Defaced in hate and disgust.
In the storms the flowers grew,
Fear dripping down their roots.
In all the pain, they forgot who they were.
In the storm, in the words.
They destroyed who they were,
Listened and surrounded by the dark words,
In the storms, the flowers were destroyed,
In the storm, weeds grew.

At the makers hand flowers bloomed,
They created sun light, and joy.
Blossoming in love and warmth
At the makers hand, the flowers bloomed.
They forged sweet smells of honey's and sugars.
They knew who they were, and none could they ever forget.
At the makers hand, the flowers bloomed.
They were blessed for who they were
At the makers hand, they flowers stood tall.