I like my roses with thorns.
What kind of thing, a clean, safe rose?
Nice everytime, knows your birthday
Never forgets to point it out with that perfect perfect gift.
Roses with thorns, that's what I'm talking.
They seem so beautiful, only to pinch your finger
Lick the blood, lick the blood very quickly
Red red red like the one inside your heart.
Roses, roses, roses
Thorned inside your mind
You learned how to love those thorns, didn't you?
You actually appreciate those little vegetable fangs...
Yellow rose, white rose, black rose
black like your heart, my so not dark lady
Closed or open, thorns that prick
Your senseless skin after all the attacks
Deep it pinches, under the skin
Into the veins, into the mind
Bloody thorns, pointy thorns, all about thorns
Only a kiss can make the wound go worse.
I like my roses with thorns, I like to call it personality
Domesticated roses bore me even more than tulips
Flower, lover, flower, bastard, flower, sweetheart, flower, dickhead,
it's all about flower, flower, flowers
Roses with thorns, that's what I'm talking
Give me one for the evening, and I'll surely dry it out
Thorns, thorns, thorns. those little thorns of yours, dear
To prick my heart, to pinch it, to surely make it bleed.
SG, London, 29thMar10