Marigold Bride

When you are old,
you’ll go watch the parade
and see the women standing in the shade.
You will think what might have been.

She will be there,
the one with whom you missed your chance:
Catrina from the midsummer city dance.
She will still have perfect skin.

Skeletons will carry candles.
Their light will shine on the years you’ve left behind.
And on the Day of the Dead
when the past fills your head,
you will weep for your marigold bride.
You will weep for your marigold bride.

All of your life,
you pictured love as a shooting star,
the flash of someone seeing you as you truly are.
But no one noticed you in the sky.

Look at her now:
Catrina with a brand-new diamond ring.
The third or fourth now hardly means anything.
Just another body to keep close by.

Skeletons will carry candles.
Their light will shine on the years you’ve locked inside.
And on the Day of the Dead
when the widows are wed,
you will weep for your marigold bride.
You will weep for your marigold bride.

In the twilight, the shadows make love,
but the people are all going home alone.
And yet they smile with their eyes,
as if they recognize
that we’re all just walking each other home.
We’re all just walking each other home.

When you are old
you’ll return to your lonely room
and draw the covers by the light of an ancient moon.
But you will smile at what you see:

Flowers of gold
are blooming in your dirty sheets
as wedding bells ring out in the city streets.
They mean to tell you you are free.

And as you blow out your last candle,
the light shines on the love you’ve locked inside.
It’s the Day of the Dead
and when you climb into bed,
you will sleep with your marigold bride.
You will sleep with your marigold bride.

Words and music copyright of Paul Weinfield/Tam Lin Music Publishing (BMI, 2014)

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