|
O Rose when I think of you |
|
Wherever you're blooming |
|
Alone or with someone I know |
|
Well, it shakes and it splits me |
|
To think that you could forget me |
|
And I won't lie and say otherwise |
|
But, Rose, I was just trying to |
|
Paint a picture for you but the canvas |
|
Was cracked and the colors untrue |
|
And I only sang the bitterest tunes |
|
O mother I have never felt so good |
|
Having married the world |
|
I lost my last love and I married the world |
|
The bridges, the ravens, and the squirrels |
|
To hide among the black trees |
|
The black ships and red seas |
|
The long nights of avarice and fear |
|
Can be as sweet as the sunrise |
|
The blue and the brown eyes |
|
And the long skies from horizon to here |
|
O brother I could never be so free |
|
As the rain or the buckling breeze |
|
But if I keep them near me |
|
And deep here within me |
|
Well, brother, ain't that as free as I could be |
|
And now, Rose, when I think of you |
|
The cold never comes |
|
And, Rose, believe me, I think of you each day |
|
But the world that I was shown |
|
Will be the world in which I'm grown |
|
Even if I am to be born to it alone |
|
Even if I must go forth in it alone |
|
Even if I'm left to worship on my own |
|
Swinging drunk here on the porches without you |
|
Singing for you in the distances alone |
|
Singing for you in the distances alone |
|
Singing for you in the distances alone |
