Each time there is less br Just a little bit less. br The gravestone seems more worn; br And the rain colder. br All I see is the ruins of flowers, br The fresh ones we bring today. br Iris, carnations; I didn't know you well enough br To know which to take. br Then we drive from the place br Where Vancouver Remembers br Back to a bleak house br My home is still with you. br We drive br And the rain washes away more memory.