An Ill Jest

Hey, flower, why do you grow so slow?
Does it spit for the sky? I love you so
Hold the soft hand of the red sun
And drift away until your troubles are done
Hey, mister, what troubles you so slow
It (?)
The river runs and I grim the skies
But the blue, blue, blue, blue river lights up the sky
Sweet-sweet bright, sweet-sweet bright
Hey you, don’t be so slow
(?) to your (?)
I’ll just, yeah, I’ll just, yeah, yeah