Pricked By The Thorn

Life is as delicate as a rose and as fragile as glass,
We come to this world to gain knowledge and perhaps fall in love,
We all come and go as time slowly starts to pass,
Down to Earth we came on the wings of a graceful dove.

We have our bumps along the road,
And those days where our world turns upside down,
The clouds become human form and bowed,
We are the Lord's creation with perfect elegance we look around,
The universe in which we live changes with us upon it.

We are precious roses that has many thorns,
Walking on the soft green grass and letting the wind blow,
Looking like an angel but with some mighty big horns,
We can prick life in the bud and let everyone know,
"We are God's angels, but we all have our sins haunting us."

The world turns to black and white,
With life slowly dying off from turning on one another,
Day no longer turns into night,
Each of us are no longer sister and brother,
We killed each other off because our souls were pricked by our own thorn.