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 were not honest not the people that we dream

Were 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 discover in life a precious love will that waking become more heavenly