On the windswept fields, on the sweeping crooked path, to where the old man rests as he leans upon his staff, he called to me and pointed, said look across this land, what you see is a part of me and it's here I'll make my stand, foolish men will suffer, the thoughtless will forget, the wise will build their shelter, the careless will regret, though Roses have their beauty, they also have their thorns, so we'll hide from nature's vengeance, until the passing of the storm, scarred and disillusioned, memories torn apart, somewhere we have lost something from deep within the heart, we look to our horizon, where the sun will set the pace, but the sweeping wind has taken just what we can't replace.
© 1991 Lyrics by N.Thomas. All rights reserved.
© 1990-2010 N.Thomas. All Rights Reserved