Verse 1 She plants her roses deep in clay, Wakes with the sun and kneels to pray. Hands in the dirt, heart on the shelf, Growing things she can’t fix in herself. Pre-Chorus She talks to the birds, but not to her past, And waters the flowers like they might last. Chorus There’s whiskey in the garden, And silence in her smile. She’s soft as southern rain, But walks a crooked mile. Between the thorns and bloom, There’s truth she’s never sayin’— She’s drinkin’ down her demons While the roses keep on swayin’. ⸻ Verse 2 She wears her grief like old perfume, Faint in the air of a Sunday room. Leaves a bottle where the daisies grow, Where no one asks and she don’t show. Pre-Chorus She’s stitched from storms and gentler days, And lives in the space between praise and escape. Chorus (repeat) There’s whiskey in the garden, And quiet in her fight. She don’t break down in daylight, But she don’t sleep at night. Between the vines and truth, There’s pain she won’t be namin’— She’s drinkin’ down her silence While the roses keep on swayin’. ⸻ Bridge You might think she’s fragile, But you’d be wrong to try. It takes more guts to bloom When you’re bone-deep dry. ⸻ Final Chorus There’s whiskey in the garden, And freedom in the ache. She’s got petals round her sorrow, And roots she’ll never break. She’s dancing with her damage, But she don’t need explainin’— Just pourin’ one for mercy While the roses keep on swayin’.
