Nov 2018
And even roses,
they get crushed.
By wicked motive
we still trust.
No matter what I try;
these thorns.
You always pass my garden by.
Alas, let me mourn.
they get crushed.
By wicked motive
we still trust.
No matter what I try;
these thorns.
You always pass my garden by.
Alas, let me mourn.
