A little while or a little black
it doesn't matter it all goes back
when you think about all the things you've done
truely think is it compared to none
the light or the darkness inside your head
the little black rose, when pronounced dead
the grass that came up from the ground
lifes precious gift is all around
so is it so hard for love to be found?
the secret inside us that holds us still
when will we go out on our own free will?
to be loved, or hurt, when they see you cry
when life will come to an end, we wonder why
all these questions will we ever find
why they were here left behind