(no subject)
People flock to flowers
With the hope that comfort grows
They spend their life in feilds
Full of thorns on every rose
The pricks cause so much bleeding
But only a little at a time
The rose who once grew white
Now grows as red as wine
With the hope that comfort grows
They spend their life in feilds
Full of thorns on every rose
The pricks cause so much bleeding
But only a little at a time
The rose who once grew white
Now grows as red as wine