Nonetheless, there's a dozen white roses on the grave."
Audioslave - Be Yourself.
Tap on the window, Knock on the door,
Try the door now, the lock - it is secure.
The door is forced open, Oh! Her limp figure!
An angelic grace, but the noose does not flatter.
He crept up behind her, a bundle of expectation,
A second's embarrassment, he popped the question,
All the world and his wife be damned!
His beloved had laughed and accepted his hand.
Tears stream down her face, "Oh! He will pay!"
She mops her brow, and frantically scribbles away,
This love, it has spent her, She's weak now,
and He! He does not care for her anyhow.
The father of the bride was seated now
waiting for the ceremony's final bow,
Never in his life had he shed a tear,
But Joy can what Regret can't nor Fear.
"Strange are love's ways", she wonders,
"Must I pay with my life for one blunder?"
"No, the man I love is no barbarian,
I must not mar his heaven."
A dozen white roses are becoming on the bride,
A dozen white roses, great regrets it can hide,
And if in life it be happiness you crave,
A dozen white roses lie beckoning you to your grave.