Lyrics

Sunflower, of flowers the most lonely, yardstick of hours, long-term stander in empty spaces, shunner of bowers, indolent bender seldom, in only the sharpest of showers: tell us, why is it your face is a snarl of jet swirls and gold arrows, a burning old lion face high in a cornflower sky, yet by turning your head, we find you wear a girl's bonnet behind?