|
She will always be the first, |
|
And so you will never forget. |
|
She is a thorn to pierce |
|
Your tender heart. |
|
And this wound that hurt you so |
|
Is the hurt you need to grow. |
|
Cry. |
|
Hungrily tasting her berry-stained lips, |
|
You're planting your kisses right there. |
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Rise up before her now, |
|
She holds you in her hands. |
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Brings you from pattern to blue, |
|
In her you'll drown. |
|
And this wound that hurt you so |
|
Is the hurt you need to grow. |
|
Cry. |
|
The thorn upon the rose. |
|
The boy becomes a man. |
|
Although she is the first, |
|
He'll not be the last. |
|
And this wound that hurt you so |
|
Is the hurt you need to grow. |
