we are the roses in the garden beauty with thorns among our leaves to pick a rose you ask your hands to bleed what is the reason for having roses when your blood is shed carelessly it must be for something more than vanity believe me the truth is we re not honest not the people that we dream we re not as close as we could be willing to grow but rains are shallow barren and wind scattered seed on stone and dry land we will be waiting for the light arisen to flood inside the prison and in that time kind words alone will teach us no bitterness will reach us reason will be guided another way all in time but the clock is another demon that devours our time in eden in our paradise will our eyes see well beneath us flowers all divine is there still time if we wake and discover in life a precious love will that waking become more heavenly 