Like a rose plant that bears flowers all season
Is she to me?
To us.
A white rose so pure beyond perfection;
she grows among the thrones
So sharp
Which at times hurt her to bleeding
Harder that she cries but only silently
Ask me if I have seen her tears.

No, would be my answer. But I know she cries.
Late in the night, when all is quite,
On her pillow and in the morning
When birds start to sing,
The day's misery.
I know, she cries for me
She cries for us

Not because of the thrones that cover her
Not because of the thrones that pierce her
She always says, 'that's life'
'All will be okay'

I know some see her as a black rose. A rose born of the sun flower plant.
They say she is lucky
She has stolen all to her self
I know this because the winds whisper.
And their cheeks still stained with dark oil
It is visible, even to the blind
And they are left carrying heavy hate within them.

I can tell,
Everyone can tell
its them that have planted the thicker thrones that almost cover her.
Growing faster almost to her throat
They are soon covering her.

I know she feels the pain
But all she says, 'that's life'
'All will be okay'

I also know of the red roses, once planted on the same rose
But broke away to the lily plant
At the sea is where they reside
Forgetting their past, the soils that natured them
The plant that made them beautiful.
She still says, 'that's life'
'All will be okay'