The roses are always shady,
you think their friendly
but then when you pick them
their thorny.

Shady are we
beauty lays close
but our roots are deeper yet,
and our thorns now they,
they are known to bite.
thorny are we.

Roses a perfumed bed
for a drowsy head,
thorns will prick
but dreams will slip
and the nightmares will take grip.

The Shady Rose