It turns out that the last guy on earth after the apocalypse is a gardener.
I wanted to use the symbolism of trees and flowers, so that's what's going on in the verses, and I liked that there are some pretty sinister implications of certain plants and flowers that sound like women's names, so I used them in the second verse.
In case it's not obvious, the lyrics owe quite a bit of inspiration to Tom Waits.
Used a kind of unusual structure with 12 bars of 6/8 spread over four lines, or alternatively an 18/8 time signature in 8 bars.
The title is either too direct, or too pretentious, I can't tell which, but nothing in the song sounded good enough to replace it.
For the gear-curious: Don Quixotecaster, Tone King Imperial (with the tremolo on), an orange squeezer I built, Winnie the Pooh and Some Bees (fuzz), and the El Capistan for the loop. I think I kicked on the Malekko 616 for the second half of the instrumental.
The Language of Flowers
(Time signature is 18/8)
F C
All my life I've been a gardener
Dm F
This year the lilac won't grow
The rose bush is devouring the arbor
And the cypress trees will bow to see me go
Refrain
Bb F
Once I thought it would be fire
Bb F
And once, I thought it would be cold
F C
But it turns out we just get tired
Dm F
It turns out we just get old
Marigold to make the sour wine
My Bella Donna to make me go to sleep
Keep Rosemary to remember me by
And baby's breath to make my Mary weep
Refrain
Once I thought it would be fire
And once, I thought it would be cold
But it turns out we just get tired
It turns out we just get old
[instrumental]
repeat refrain