A good year for the roses

I can hardly bear the sight of lipstick on the cigarettes there in the ashtray

Lyin' cold the way you left 'em, but at least your lips caressed them while you packed

Or the lip-print on a half-filled cup of coffee that you poured and didn't drink

But at least you thought you wanted it, that's so much more than I can say for me

 

What a good year for the roses

Many blooms still linger there

Done