Cherry, parched lips under beaten blue skies,
Perfect promises, and pretty lies,
A daisy chain, placed on her head,
Made from daisies, long ago dead.
Dear dryest drought,
Let us live without,
Let rain fall on her face,
With her unspoken grace.
Help her finnish her letter,
Soak her heart, with something better,
Ginger ale, sour lemonade
She fades along with a serenade
Sometimes she still wishes,
For the lies he told, and his fakest kisses,
But with his heart he still grips,
To the girl with the cherry, parched lips.