Oh, she’s a rose...
but don’t forget the thorn.
I saw her dancing by the garden wall,
sun on her shoulders, laughing at the world.
I came too close with my careless hands,
thinking beauty was mine to hold.
She turned her face to the morning light,
soft as a secret, wild as wine.
I reached for the bloom, she taught me fast:
some lovely things need space and time.
No, you don’t pick the flower
just to prove it’s real.
You learn the rain,
you learn the soil,
you learn the way it feels.
Every rose has got a thorn,
don’t hold her like you own her.
Give her sunlight, give her time,
never cut her just to show her.
She’ll bloom if you let her be,
wild and warm and free.
Every rose has got a thorn,
and that’s the beauty to me.
Da-da-da, don’t rush the bloom.
Da-da-da, give her room.
Da-da-da, love her right,
she’ll turn your dark into perfume.
She doesn’t need a golden cage,
doesn’t need a velvet name.
She needs a little honest care,
and someone who can take the flame.
Water the roots, don’t steal the crown,
let her grow where the good light goes.
If you want the sweetest part,
you better make peace with the thorns.
No, you don’t win the flower
by breaking the stem.
You keep your heart
wide open enough
to meet her as she is.
Every rose has got a thorn,
don’t hold her like you own her.
Give her sunlight, give her time,
never cut her just to show her.
She’ll bloom if you let her be,
wild and warm and free.
Every rose has got a thorn,
and that’s the beauty to me.
If she scratches when you rush,
maybe that’s not cruelty.
Maybe beauty has a border,
maybe love means “let it be.”
So don’t come with heavy hands,
don’t come trying to rearrange.
A rose is not a trophy, no,
she’s a little piece of rain.
Every rose has got a thorn,
don’t hold her like you own her.
Give her sunlight, give her time,
never cut her just to show her.
She’ll bloom if you let her be,
wild and warm and free.
Every rose has got a thorn,
and that’s the beauty to me.
Da-da-da, don’t rush the bloom.
Da-da-da, give her room.
Da-da-da, love her right,
she’ll turn your dark into perfume.
Every rose has got a thorn...
and that’s the beauty to me.
