We are the roses in the garden,
beauty with thorns among our leaves.
To pick a rose you ask your hands to bleed.
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 another way.
All in time,
but the clock is another demon that
devours our time in Eden,
in our Paradise.
Will our eyes see well beneath us,
flowers all divine?
Is there still time?
If we wake and dicsover
in life a precious love,
will that waking become more heavenly?
Over your shoulder, please don't mind me if my eyes have
fallen onto your magazine for I've been watching and wondering why
your face is changing with every line you read. All those lines
and circles, to me, a mystery. Eve pull down the apple and give
taste to me. If she would be wonderful, but my pride is in the
way. I cannot read to save my life, I'm so ashamed to say.
I live in silence, afraid to speak of my life of
darkness because I cannot read. For all those lines and circles,
to me, a mystery. Eve pull down the apple and give taste to me.
If she could it would be wonderful. Then I wouldn't need someone
else's eyes to see what's in front of me. No one guiding me.
It makes me humble to be so green at what every kid can
do when he learns A to Z, but all those lines and circles just
frighten me and I fear that I'll be trampled if you don't reach
for me. Before I run I'll have to take a fall. And then pick
myself up, so slowly I'll devour every one of those books in the
Tower of Knowledge.
