Bluebells

My dad is bluebells now,

Took his ashes to the woods, shook them on the ground.

The earth spun once around the sun,

By the 1st of May, they were starting to bud.

It’s like he never left, like he’s still around;

My dad is bluebells now.

It’s kinda like a Walt Whitman song,

He’s in the dirt now, growing from the grass I love.

‘If you want me again look for me under your boots’

Among the bluebells’ leaves and shoots.

I tell myself I’m lucky to be alive and that I wanna be a bluebell too when I die.

Under an oak tree’s twisted bough,

Maybe his spirit is hanging around.

Sometimes it’s wet, sometimes it’s dry -

I don’t want to forget what he was like,

So I go for a walk and look down at the ground because

My dad is bluebells now.

He changed shape, he changed his noun;

My dad is bluebells now.

He showed me how to play guitar and sing,

There’s still a part of him in everything.

But he’s changed the way he looks and the way he sounds because

My dad is bluebells now.

It’s like he never left, like he’s still around;

My dad is bluebells now

He changed shape, he changed his noun;

My dad is bluebells now (lookout).

It’s like he never left, he’s still around…