An Ill Jest

Hey, flower, why do you grow so slow?
Doesn't the spit from the sky love you so?
Hold the soft hand of the red sun
And drift away until your troubles are done

Hey, mister, what troubles you so, so?
Did the porcupine (?)bring sticks(?) staggering slow?
The red one runs, and the green just cries
But the blue, blue, blue, blue, blue lights up the sky

Sweet, sweet, red
Sweet, sweet, red
Hey you, don't worry so
(?) Mouth won't stop or treat you low (?)
I'll just, yeah, I'll just, yeah, yeah