Pricked

Your love pricks me like a rose each thorn grows but no one knows Your so full of it as it shows so carry on now go on, go. I'm fed up with the phony and i'm through with the tears, you couldn't pay me all your money to make up for those years. Someone help me I feel faint how could I think he was such a saint and worst of all I let me fall into a spiral down below. A magic called love carried by the dove of someone I use to know.