I believed in love ‘cause it was roses and tulips,
When I first met it, on a lovely river bank,
But even roses and tulips have to wither,
and leave thorny branches,
It’s still love — the same.
‘Cause after every spring, there comes the summer,
And dark days of winter are just meant to be,
But gone long cold nights one will see the glimmer,
Of the spring’s sun, making it way again,
In its own good time.
So if flowers fall to the ground and season turns glummer,
Take a shelter and wait for it to rain,
And when it does, drench yourself in the downpour,
And hope of the lovely days again.
‘Cause if it was love, it will make its way,
Through the forbidden woods, and to your doors,
Anew, afresh, encore,
It will wrap its arms around you,
And engulf your shoulders of pain.
– Grey
