They call me The Wild Rose
But my name was Elisa Day
Why they call me it I do not know
For my name was Elisa Day
From the first day I saw her I knew she was the one
As she stared in my eyes and smiled
For her lips were the colour of the roses
They grew down the river, all bloody and wild
When he knocked on my door and entered the room
My trembling subsided in his sure embrace
He would be my first man, and with a careful hand
He wiped the tears that ran down my face
On the second day I brought her a flower
She was more beautiful than any woman I'd seen
I said, 'Do you know where the wild roses grow
So sweet and scarlet and free?'
On the second day he came with a single rose
Said: 'Will you give me your loss and your sorrow?'
I nodded my head, as I layed on the bed
He said, 'If I show you the roses will you follow?'
On the third day he took me to the river
He showed me the roses and we kissed
And the last thing I heard was a muttered word
As he stood smiling above me with a rock in his fist
On the last day I took her where the wild roses grow
And she lay on the bank, the wind light as a thief
As I kissed her goodbye, I said, 'All beauty must die'
And lent down and planted a rose between her teeth
("Where the wild roses grow", Nick Cave)
---
Some say love, it is a river
That drowns the tender seed
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
Its the dream afraid of waking
That never takes the chance
It's the one who won't be taken,
That cannot seem to give
And the soul afraid of dying
That never learns to live
And the night has been too lonely
And the road has been too 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 a rose.
("The rose", Leann Rimes)
really really nice! great job! this definitely is a fav
--
life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
that struts and frets his hour upon the stage
and then is heard no more.
it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury
signifying nothing...
Hey this rose is beautiful i wanted to ask would i be able to use this rose for refernce for my next drawing? and i will link you back to the drawing.?
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Also a great poetry selection - although 'The Rose" was written by Amanda McBroom. not Leanne Rimes.
--
Il mio inglese fa schifo ù.ù quindi..
Sorry for my english ç.ç
--
"What state do you live in?"
"Denial."
- Miss Wormwood & Calvin
Please, buy my Prints
My stock account: ~koanstock
--
life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
that struts and frets his hour upon the stage
and then is heard no more.
it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury
signifying nothing...
--
Love, Katarina
--
Nutsh3ll Gallery
--
Do you think we can fly?
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