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They call me The Wild Rose |
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But my name was Elisa Day |
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Why they call me it I do not know |
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For my name was Elisa Day |
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From the first day I saw her I knew she was the one |
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As she stared in my eyes and smiled |
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For her lips were the color of the roses |
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They grew down the river, all bloody and wild |
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When he knocked on my door and entered the room |
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My trembling subsided in his sure embrace |
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He would be my first man, and with a careful hand |
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He wiped the tears that ran down my face |
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On the second day I brought her a flower |
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She was more beautiful than any woman I'd seen |
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I said, "Do you know where the wild roses grow |
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So sweet and scarlet and free?" |
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On the second day he came with a single rose |
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Said: "Will you give me your loss and your sorrow?" |
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I nodded my head, as I lay on the bed |
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He said, "If I show you the roses will you follow?" |
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On the third day he took me to the river |
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He showed me the roses and we kissed |
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And the last thing I heard was a muttered word |
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As he stood smiling above me with a rock in his fist |
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On the last day I took her where the wild roses grow |
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And she lay on the bank, the wind light as a thief |
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As I kissed her goodbye, I said, "All beauty must die" |
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And I lent down and planted a rose between her teeth |
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They call me The Wild Rose |
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But my name was Elisa Day |
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Why they call me it I do not know |
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For my name was Elisa Day |
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For my name was Elisa Day |
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For my name was Elisa Day |
