A Gift Of Roses
I count the hours: you count the days.Together, we count the minutes in this Passion Play.Walk dusty miles, and I ride that trainOn a first class ticket, just to be with you again.
Picking up tired feet back from a far horizon,Cleaned up and brushed down, dressed to look the part.Fresh from God's garden, I bring a gift of roses:To stand in sweet spring water and press them to your heart.
Like the Kipling cat, I walk alone,Never inviting trouble, never casting the stone.But this badge of honor is of tarnished tin,Light your guiding beacon to bring this fisher in.
Picking up tired feet back from a far horizon,Cleaned up and brushed down, dressed to look the part.Fresh from God's garden, I bring a gift of roses:To stand in sweet spring water and press them to your heart.
I count the hours: you count the days.Together, we count the minutes in this Passion Play.Walk dusty miles, and I ride that trainOn a first class ticket, just to be with you again.
Picking up tired feet back from a far horizon,Cleaned up and brushed down, dressed to look the part.Fresh from God's garden, I bring a gift of roses:To stand in sweet spring water and press them to your heart.(x2)