We are the roses in the garden,
beauty with thorns among our leaves.
To pick a rose, you ask your hands to bleed
but what is the reason for having roses
when your blood is shed carelessly?
It must be for something more than vanity.
Believe me, the truth is we're not honest.
Not the people that we dream.
We're not as close as we could be.
Willing to grow, but rains are shallow,
barren and wind-scattered seed.
On stone and dry land, we will be.
Waiting for the light arisen,
to flood inside the prison,
and in that time
Kind words alone will teach us
no bitterness will reach us
reason will be guided in a-nother way
all in time...
but the clock is another demon
that devours our time in E-den
in our paradise.
Will our eyes see well beneath us,
flowers all divine?
Is there still time?
If we wake and discover
in life a precious love,
will that waking become more heavenly?
Ooohhhh....
