The rose

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The rose

Some say love it is a river that drowns the tender reed.
Some say love it is a razor that leaves your soul to bleed.
Some say love it is a hunger, an endless aching need.
I say love it is a flower and you it's only seed

It's the heart afraid of breaking that never learns to dance.
It's the dream afraid of waking that never takes the chance.
It's the one who won't be taken, who can not seem to give,
and the soul afraid of dyin' that never learns to live.

When the night has been too lonely and the road has been to long,
and you think that love is only for the lucky and the strong.
Just remember in the winter far beneath the bitter snow
lies the seed that with the sun's love in the spring becomes the rose.

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