Oh, Oh how they wilt as the sun goes down.
There beautiful yellow almost turning brown.
As they climb the mountain to reach the sun,
the rain washes them down and Oh how they cry.
The blue sky turns dark.
The dark clouds, they laugh.
As they pour down on the poor and wilted ones.
OH Oh now there's nothing left behind,
But the soul of the poor and wilted ones.
For there was no sun to help them up.
Was there no smooth sprinkling to smooth out the past?
No companions to help them straighten their arms.
For there was no one to help the poor and wilted ones.