 Black rose
Black Rose
In a garden of colour, she was the black rose,
Dull at first sight, full of beauty up close.
They stared from a far, never looked deep,
They looked for the thorns to make her weep.
They're all sorry now, now it's too late,
Now that she's gone they've forgotten their hate.
She'd had enough of life, had enough of the pain,
She didn't want to be called those bad names again.
They all felt so bad, and damn right too,
They wanted to tell her what they said wasn't true.
Now outside her house, the irony shows,
For what they laid there was a single red rose. |