THE BRIAR AND THE ROSE

I picked the rose one early morn
I pricked my finger on a thorn
It had grown so high
It's winding wove the briar around the rose

I tried to tear them both apart
I felt a bullet in my heart
And all dressed up in spring's new clothes
The briar and the rose

And when I'm buried in my grave
Tell me so I will know
Your tears will fall
To make love grow
The briar and the rose
-- Tom Waits , The Black Rider
- posted by M @ 9:55 p.m.