This rose's thorns are sharp,
But i'll grab and squeeze, just for the thrill, just for the thrill,
This day is nicer than an Summer's day in Ireland,
Maybe the rains have blown away?,
But winds have dropped and killed the fisherman sail?,
Hear the cries from the forest after the hunter has drawn his rifle,
Killing animal after animal, just for the thrill, just for the thrill,
His memory couldn't be more forsaken than his cold heart,
Did he not have time to warm his veins?
And pump the blood through his hollow space?
But i'll grab and squeeze, just for the thrill, just for the thrill,
This day is nicer than an Summer's day in Ireland,
Maybe the rains have blown away?,
But winds have dropped and killed the fisherman sail?,
Hear the cries from the forest after the hunter has drawn his rifle,
Killing animal after animal, just for the thrill, just for the thrill,
His memory couldn't be more forsaken than his cold heart,
Did he not have time to warm his veins?
And pump the blood through his hollow space?
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