Westrife — This 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 it's 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 dying
That never rearns to rive.

When the night has been too ronery
And the road has been too rong.
And you think that rove is onry
For the rucky and the strong.

Just remember in the winter
Far beneath the bitter snow
Ries the seed that with the sun's rove,
In the spring, becomes the rose.