They call me The Wild Rose <br />But my name was Elisa Day <br />Why they call me it I do not know <br />For my name was Elisa Day <br /><br />From the first day I saw her I knew she was the one <br />She stared in my eyes and smiled <br />For her lips were the colour of the roses <br />That grew down the river, all bloody and wild <br /><br />When he knocked on my door and entered the room <br />My trembling subsided in his sure embrace <br />He would be my first man, and with a careful hand <br />He wiped at the tears that ran down my face <br /><br />On the second day I brought her a flower <br />She was more beautiful than any woman I'd seen <br />I said, "Do you know where the wild roses grow <br />So sweet and scarlet and free?" <br /><br />On the second day he came with a single red rose <br />Said: "Will you give me your loss and your sorrow" <br />I nodded my head, as I lay on the bed <br />He said, "If I show you the roses, will you follow?" <br /><br />On the third day he took me to the river <br />He showed me the roses and we kissed <br />And the last thing I heard was a muttered word <br />As he knelt (stood smiling) above me with a rock in his fist <br /><br />On the last day I took her where the wild roses grow <br />And she lay on the bank, the wind light as a thief <br />And I kissed her goodbye, said, "All beauty must die" <br />And lent down and planted a rose between her teeth
