Some say love it is a river, that drowns the tender reed.
Some say love it is a razor, that leaves your soul to bleed.
When the night has been to lonely, and the road has been to long
And you think that love is only, for the lucky and the strong.
Just remember, in the winter, far beneath the bitter snows
Lies the the seed, that with the sun's love
In the spring, becomes the rose.