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Past Tense

long, long time ago
in the past tense of my life
there was once a rosey rose
with a beauty sharper than a knife
spoiled by every dropp of rain
on her petals so reddish as blood
playful in such childish vain
though never she had to leave her bud

day and night are leaving
but the rose didn't move
and here I'm sleeping
hoping by the morrow
I would get a move

the wisdom it says by virtue
this rose shall live and live along
as long the sun is singing golden
and the rain is playing its own song
but in case the light becomes so dim
and the weather helps not the eye
standing shall not be that rose's stem
and the whole thing shall be just a lie

day and night are leaving
but the rose didn't move
and here I'm sleeping
hoping by the morrow
I would get a move

but for some reason I cannot find
my eyes closed and once open again
to find myself moveless in bound
without a feeling of the world of insane
but thank to the Lord of heavens in up
my head is beside a rosey rose in here
even though my heart is going to stop
my rose with me got me out of fear

day and night are leaving
but the rose didn't move
and here I'm sleeping
hoping by the morrow
I would get a move

sleepless nights and days
how long did I spend in there
my tears are going down alone
but so the rose stayed to me so near
and yet when people go alone

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