[Lyric] Pressed Flowers (Michael Wadlow)

We picked wildflowers
From down by the river
On the outskirts of town
Pressed, framed, and hung them up
Then you closed the door
To the dark of November
And suddenly the world was so small

Oh, we rise
And sometimes we fall
But those flowers
Those flowers
Don't change at all

Memories slowly surface
In the front of my head
Like rusty bikes from river beds
And I recall
Headlights in the dark of November
Brokеn glass on the floor
Oh, we rise
And somеtimes we fall
But those flowers
Pressed flowers
Don't change at all