I ask why the men I know will bring me flowers instead of saying "I'm sorry," two words which soak up injury like a kiss to make it better, Simple words we can't imagine said. [Chorus] But will I ever see a rose without its wrapping of remorse? No, instead this ceremony of leaves, stems, and petals, seeds meant to carry a yield of future hope in every bud. To trim these flowers, set them in some water is my complicity. My wary blue eyes soften, again, again glad such rich forgiving colors burgeon from our fury. [Acoustic mandolin solo] To trim these flowers, set them in some water is my complicity. My wary blue eyes soften, again, again glad such rich forgiving colors burgeon from our fury. [Chorus] But will I ever see a rose without its wrapping of remorse? I ask why the men I know will bring me flowers instead of saying "I'm sorry," two words which soak up injury like a kiss to make it better, Simple words we can't imagine said. [Chorus] So, will I ever see a rose without its wrapping of remorse?
