It’s a banality. Life is bed of roses These roses are looking a treat In reality it’s a thorny problem If you get into this bed
You are torment by a prick of conscience As you’ve made your bed, so must lie on it You give way too readily to your emotions You agreed to do it but now you’ve got cold feet
The stream dried to a trickle The stream of blood of hopes You’d better pull the trigger If you don’t want to pull out all the stops
Shame on you unconditional surrender Never do a hand’s turn You can’t be judged by our standard You never prick yourself with a thorn
Believe in fatality. Life is bed of roses These roses are thorn in your flesh Relieve reality. To strike a different poses Your body was badly gashed
The stream dried to a trickle You drink it to last drop You’d better drown your sorrows in drink If you don’t want to pull out all the stops