Texty: Grateful Dead. Rosemary.

Boots were of leather, a breath of cologne
the mirror was a window she sat by alone.
All around the garden grew scarlet and purple and crimson and blue.
She came dead and she went, and at last went away, the garden was sealed when the
flowers decayed.
On the wall of the garden a legend did say, no one may come here since no one may
stay