Don Williams - The rose

^CSome say love it is a ri^Gver, that dr^Fowns the tender r^Ceed. Some say love it is a ra^Gzor, that le^Faves your soul to bl^Ceed. Some say l^C7ove it is a h^Funger, and endless aching n^Geed I say l^Cove it is a f^Glower, and y^Fou it's only s^Ceed.

^CIt's the heart afraid of br^Geaking, that n^Fever le^Garns to d^Cance It's the dream afraid of wa^Gking, that n^Fever t^Gakes the ch^Cance It's the ^Emone who won't be t^Amaken, who ca^Fnnot seem to g^Give And the s^Coul afraid of dy^Ging, that ne^Fver le^Garns to l^Cive.

^CWhen the night has been too lo^Gnely, and the r^Foad has b^Geen too l^Cong. That you think that love is o^Gnly, for the l^Fucky a^Gnd the s^Ctrong. Just r^Ememember in the wi^Amnter, far ben^Feath the bitter s^Gnow Lies the s^Ceed that with the s^Gun's love, in the sp^Fring, b^Gecomes a r^Cose.