I am a rose with a thorn,
left with no feeling or soul.
So you might think?
This rose has fought Depression,
and still here stranding strong.
I have my thorns sticking out firm.
Protecting me from the Depression,
I still fight today.
But it's now not so hard to stay.
I have found a protecter,
So I will not wither.
And here together,
Never to be ripped appart.
So now you know,
Every rose has it's thorn.