Lyrics:

The scent of roses, I suppose
Is summer's way of telling me, what I'll be missing
Now somebody else does your kissing
And like the willow tree, so woe is me
The joys of springtime are the thing I'm dreading most
Reminding me what I'll be losing
Since you took to picking and choosing
I need you, can't you see how woe is me
Woe, woe is me every morning
So, woe is me every night
You left without any warning
And that's not right
The winter weather which together we ignored, is worse
Now there's no central heating
Since me and my heart took a beating
And somebody else chairs the meeting of the poor
I want you to know
That the hours go slow

And that woe is me