September
Friday 7 November 2008 photo 3/5
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They call me The Wild RoseBut my name was Eliza DayWhy they call me it I do not knowFor my name was Eliza DayFrom the first day I saw her I knew she was the oneShe stared in my eyes and smiledFor her lips were the colour of the rosesThat grew down the river, all bloody and wildWhen he knocked on my door and entered the roomMy trembling subsided in his sure embraceHe would be my first man, and with a careful handHe wiped at the tears that ran down my faceThey call me The Wild RoseBut my name was Eliza DayWhy they call me that I do not knowFor my name was Eliza DayOn the second day I brought her a flowerShe was more beautiful than any woman I've seenI said: "Do you know where the wild roses growSo sweet and scarlet and free?"On the second day he came with a single red roseHe said: "Will you give me your loss and your sorrow?"I nodded my head, as I lay on the bed"If I show you the roses will you follow?"They call me The Wild RoseBut my name was Eliza DayWhy they call me that I do not knowFor my name was Eliza DayOn the third day he took me to the riverHe showed me the roses and we kissedAnd the last thing I heard was a muttered wordAs he knelt above me with a rock in his fistOn the last day I took her where the wild roses growShe lay on the bank, the wind lied as a thiefAnd I kissed her goodbye, said "All beauty must die"And I lent down and planted a rose between her teethThey call me The Wild RoseBut my name was Eliza DayWhy they call me it I do not knowFor my name was Eliza DayMy name was Eliza DayFor my name was Eliza Day
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