There grows a weed, looks like a flower
Looks like baby's breath on a mirror

My girl and [bad word] atop the altar
The sacrifice was made
It was not easy undertaking
The roots gripped soft like a living grave

Oh young girl at the wedding
Baby's breath in her hair
crowning lace above her face
That will last a day
Before it turns to hay

Good plans are made by hand
I'd cut a clearing in the land
And for a little bed
For her to [bad word] in

And each day I looked out on the lawn
And I wondered what all was gone
Until I saw it was lucky old me
How could [bad word] without losing anything?
How could [bad word] without [bad word] lean?
It was agreed, it was agreed
It was me tearing out the baby's breath

Oh I am a helpless man, so help me
I'm on my knees gardening
It was not a weed, it was a flower
My baby's gone, oh where has my baby gone?
And she was not a weed, she was a flower

And now I know you must reap what you sow, or sing