Lyrics:

The oaks and the vines, and the branches entwine
Around my heart
And a melancholy winding led to my depart
And it was clear, that you were not here
For the roses
And you stood watch, over a man-made lake
You ain't no saint, of the roses

And you wore, paper thin sleeves
In this mire, of thorns
And with ill fate, we lay beneath
Oh that white cross, bearing this loss
And with ill fate, we lay beneath, oh that white cross
Bearing this loss
And I shall, continue to make, bouquets of roses from this fate

And so I shall continue to make, bouquets of roses
From this fate