In a field, a field of pain,
Comes down the rain,
And I try to become more than what I\'ve done,
I am the storm,
Every minute passes like a century,
The only thing I\'ve ever had was a voice to keep me warm,
I long for someone to tell me my name,
It\'s went down the drain,
I look up from the grass and see a bird,
It swoops down to a flower,
In this flower I saw a face,
For the rest of my life I wanted to look every hour,
From this flower a beautiful voice,
And it gave me a choice to listen,
So I did, and now I listen to its music,
The only real music I\'ve ever heard,
The Rose, the only flower I\'ve ever preferred,