A rose is still a rose.
There was a rose I knew, I met her once or twice before. She was a pretty sweet thing, not the least bit insecure. Then you came with your slick game and played with her youth. Ashamed of the way you lied, played with the truth. She never knew what hit her. Steal her honey, then forget her. A rose. She wears a flower, trying to forget about you. A
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