Lyrics:
much better
Than the rest of them
Out of all the others
You were the honest man
He loved guns and roses
Guns and roses
He loved guns and roses
me anywhere
My poor worried heart was almost certain
That this love affair would never be
Then I sent a dozen yellow roses and
From that moment,
Morning fields of amber gray
Weathered faces lined in pain
Are soothed beneath the artist's loving hand
Now I understand
What you tried to say to me
A pastel scene in front of me
A rose’s stem between my teeth
Art’s not precious if the artist’s hand is not present
A few last names
A white-walled place
Georgia Rose, Georgia Rose,
you're the most precious rose, Dixie Rose.
Though we don't see quite right, cause you're skin's dark as night.
I
Roses are shining in thicker fields
In the hush of the silvery dew
The roses are flowering in Picardy
But there's never a rose like you
an artist never seen yet with a vision
With a reason
Stared with venom at the ceiling
Not the grass
But straight ahead
Just at the skyline
With
How you say you
Innocent? Illegitimate children
Ain't gon hurt, who feels it? Artists with?
Fuck em, middle finger never bent
Only at the Lord's
Ooh, never thought I would be without you
I wish you love, I wish you well
I wish you roses while you can still smell 'em
With pretty flowers can
The roses
The roses
The roses
The roses
Mary Pickford used to eat roses
Thought that they'd make her beautiful and they did
One supposes
Douglas Fairbanks, he was so handsome
He wore
Ramblin' rose, ramblin' rose
Why you ramble, no one knows
Wild and wind-blown, that's how you've grown
Who can cling to a ramblin' rose?
Ramble
Ramblin' rose, ramblin' rose
Why you ramble, no one knows
Wild and wind-blown, that's how you've grown
Who can cling to a ramblin' rose?
Ramble
I had with
You
She's never tasted caviar or sipped on fine champagne
Still life with Rose is better than any artist's brush
Could paint
a weather station
Artists and repertoire
Hand in hand through the greater way at dawn
The writing on the wall said, "Jesus saves"
The writing
Morning fields of amber grain
Weathered faces lined in pain
Are soothed beneath the artist's loving hand
Now I understand
What you tried to say to me
Mary Pickford used to eat roses
Thought that they'd make her beautiful and they did
One supposes
Douglas Fairbanks, he was so handsome
He wore
Twilight in the sculpture garden
When we walk around the place
Look upon the beautiful secrets
That all the artists' made.
And we still wanna stay
Starry night, this is the fable of the rose
The rose I gave my love
So young and tender, so in bloom
Filled with a faint perfume
Is lying crushed
If I sent a rose to you for every time you made me blue
You'd have a room full of roses
If I sent a rose of white for every time I cried all night
(Roses roses au au ua)
Roses I send you roses with all the love their tender blossoming discloses
Just like my arms they'll open wide you'll see my
There are no lyrics to this track. It is intentionally blank, with each of the 71 seconds representing one of the years that the artist's father,
Morning fields of amber grain
Weathered faces lined in pain
Are soothed beneath the artist's loving hand
Now I understand
What you tried to say to me
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