Tom Waits. The Black Rider. The Last Rose Of Summer. Zeneszám

I love the way
The tattered clouds
Go wind across the sky


As summer goes
And leave me
With a tear in my eye


I'm taking out my winter clothes
My garden knows what's wrong
The petals of my favorite rose
Be in the shadows dark and long



Through every year
It's very clear
I should be used
To carrying on
But I can't be found
In the garden
Singing this song


When the last
Rose of summer is gone