Pat Benatar

I picked a rose this morning
and it was so fresh it looked like it was crying
I thought how sad to be so beautiful
only to wither and die
Like papa's roses, soft and pale
like petals thrown in the dirt
Only silence is spoken here
All that grows here is hurt
and papa's roses
Papa wasn't really a hardened man
he could be tender at times
I remember it was like a holiday
when he was gentle and kind
He gave those flowers his heart and soul
I wish he'd saved some for me
It would have been such a simple thing
for me to be
Like papa's roses, soft and pale
like petals thrown in the dirt
Only silence is spoken here
All that grows here is hurt
ooh ooh ooh....
Voices that whisper soft and low
forever buried inside
Haunted by images dark and cold
forever burned in your mind
But I dreamed I could fly away
like an angel I'd fly
to a place where I could forget
forget that I was like
Like papa's roses, soft and pale
like petals thrown in the dirt
Only silence is spoken here
All that grows here is hurt
and papa's roses
Like papa's roses, soft and pale
like petals thrown in the dirt
Only silence is spoken here
All that grows here is hurt
and papa's roses
mmmm...papa's roses...
papa's roses