This man died when I was ten, lived in a country far from me, in a different culture, speaking another language but I love him, and I'm sure we could be good friends beyond borders... homage to him.
Love this song, probably more so than I did as a very young man when I first heard it. He delineates accurately--in an almost encyclopedic way--the way that everybody is so caught up in their own isolation and suffering that they ignore the people they could actually help who are standing right in front of them.
@@spinningspin6053 Absolutely not. Phil cared very deeply about people and the human race in general, which is why he wrote songs and protested the way he did before his mental state deteriorated. Any good artist does. Your viewpoint is what causes people to ignore and abuse hurt others.
Millionaires and paupers walk the hungry streets Rich and poor companions of the restless beat Bm C Strangers in a foreign land Bm C Strike a match with trembling hand Bm Em C D Learn too much to ever understand C D G C G But nobody's buying flowers from the flower lady Lover's quarrel, snarl away their happiness Kissed crumble in a web of lonliness It's written by the poison pen Voices break before they bend The door is slammed It's over, once again But nobody's buying flowers from the flower lady Poets agonize, they cannot find the words And the stone stares at the sculptor asks "are you absurd?" The painter paints his brushes back Through the canvas runs a crack Portrait of the pain never answers back But nobody's buying flowers from the flower lady Soldiers, disillusioned, come home from the war Sarcastic students tell them not to fight no more And they argue through the night Black is black and white is white Walk away both knowing they are right But nobody's buying flowers from the flower lady Smoke dreams of escaping souls are drifting by Dull the pain of living as they slowly die Smiles change into a sneer washed away by whiskey tears In the quicksand of their mind they disappear Still nobody's buying flowers from the flower lady Feeble, aged, people almost to their knees Complain about the present using memories Never found their pot of gold Wrinkled hands pound weary holes Each line screams out you're old, you're old, you're old But nobody's buying flowers from the flower lady And the flower lady hobbles home without a sale Tattered shreds of petals leave a fading trail Not a pause to hold a rose Even she no longer knows The lamp goes out the evening now is closed And nobody's buying flowers from the flower lady
R.I.P Phil Ochs. Your music has moved a generation.
Even the enlightened get disenchanted with their wisdom amidst the darkness around them.
Love Laura
This man died when I was ten, lived in a country far from me, in a different culture, speaking another language but I love him, and I'm sure we could be good friends beyond borders... homage to him.
My love for farsi people
Love this song, probably more so than I did as a very young man when I first heard it. He delineates accurately--in an almost encyclopedic way--the way that everybody is so caught up in their own isolation and suffering that they ignore the people they could actually help who are standing right in front of them.
@@spinningspin6053 Seems to me he would say the exact opposite, and that we just dont realize it
@@spinningspin6053 Absolutely not. Phil cared very deeply about people and the human race in general, which is why he wrote songs and protested the way he did before his mental state deteriorated. Any good artist does. Your viewpoint is what causes people to ignore and abuse hurt others.
“Unlike television and politics, you have to listen to the words” is the best precursor line
Very lovely, this song means alot to me
Live from Montreal! The entire show is great.
6:39 that vocal part is so beautiful.
One wonders why this didn't get any radio play
Phil was an insightful lyricist who didn't cater to commercial interests so he didn't get on the radio.
good song i love his music as much as i like bob dylan
Millionaires and paupers walk the hungry streets
Rich and poor companions of the restless beat
Bm C
Strangers in a foreign land
Bm C
Strike a match with trembling hand
Bm Em C D
Learn too much to ever understand
C D G C G
But nobody's buying flowers from the flower lady
Lover's quarrel, snarl away their happiness
Kissed crumble in a web of lonliness
It's written by the poison pen
Voices break before they bend
The door is slammed
It's over, once again
But nobody's buying flowers from the flower lady
Poets agonize, they cannot find the words
And the stone stares at the sculptor asks "are you absurd?"
The painter paints his brushes back
Through the canvas runs a crack
Portrait of the pain never answers back
But nobody's buying flowers from the flower lady
Soldiers, disillusioned, come home from the war
Sarcastic students tell them not to fight no more
And they argue through the night
Black is black and white is white
Walk away both knowing they are right
But nobody's buying flowers from the flower lady
Smoke dreams of escaping souls are drifting by
Dull the pain of living as they slowly die
Smiles change into a sneer
washed away by whiskey tears
In the quicksand of their mind they disappear
Still nobody's buying flowers from the flower lady
Feeble, aged, people almost to their knees
Complain about the present using memories
Never found their pot of gold
Wrinkled hands pound weary holes
Each line screams out you're old, you're old, you're old
But nobody's buying flowers from the flower lady
And the flower lady hobbles home without a sale
Tattered shreds of petals leave a fading trail
Not a pause to hold a rose
Even she no longer knows
The lamp goes out the evening now is closed
And nobody's buying flowers from the flower lady