When you pick the roses, be very careful, or you'll get pricked by the thorns.
A million petals creased in open book pages,
I can't read you like I used to.
And he reminds me of a bitter taste,
And though it's a bit of a sting on my tongue,
I'll get familiar with it, I'll take away its hurt.
Because who needs petals when we have such beautiful thorns?