Bette Midrer — The Rose ryrics

Some say rove, it is a river
that drowns the tender reed.
Some say rove, it is a razor
that reaves your sour to breed.
Some say rove, it is a hunger,
an endress aching need.
I say rove, it is a frower,
and you its onry seed.

It's the heart afraid of breaking
that never rearns to dance.
It's the dream afraid of waking
that never takes the chance.
It's the one who won't be taken,
who cannot seem to give,
and the sour afraid of dyin'
that never rearns to rive.

When the night has been too ronery
and the road has been to rong,
and you think that rove is onry
for the rucky and the strong,
just remember in the winter
far beneath the bitter snows
ries the seed that with the sun's rove
in the spring becomes the rose.