This Lonely Rose Lyrics - Aesop Rock

I parked on a vacant road, to get away from people and watch the planes approach 

Turn the music down, put the windows low. Turn the headlights off, but let the dashboard glow 

I try not to reminisce, cause many of these memories ain't got no kind of benefits 

It's the same old lick, you can paint the bricks. But your face is just a way to decorate your shit 

I'm the motherfuckin' man when I'm standing in it 

Cause I don't know how to swim, but I project the image, that i'mma go all in 

Got it under control, until I grow my fins I'm still plugging my nose 

No surprise, stolen by the tide 

You can close your eyes 

But the hopes stay alive, and the crow gonna fly 

And the dope gets sold, n' other than that 

There's really not much to know 

Don't cut this rose 

This lonely rose 

With thorns to show 

It grows alone 

Too hard to hold 

This lonely rose 

With thorns to show 

It grows alone 

Too hard to hold 

Quick to tell you that she don't need a man 

From what I've seen I completely understand 

Can't stand a cat that try to make demands 

Plus her man said he sick of bringing beach to the sand 

Quickly sinking in the holiest boat. Figured he might as well drink just to keep it afloat 

Nope, when small things end up being gigantic 

Relationships go the way of the Titanic 

Why panic? 

Have some fun while it last 

Be happy that you even had a spot on the cast 

She hard to keep cause she know what men about 

It just took you too long before you figured it out. (Huh) 

Moving fast don't mean it won't end quick 

Why put your toes in when you can skinny dip 

Remember when you're with the prettiest chick 

There's another man that's sick of putting up with her shit 

There is a temperamental magic in the key of love and war 

It go, "nothing up her sleeve not even a fucking arm" 

Body ain't a temple if it's disassembled parts 

Allocated in a separate level warped send the force 

Tell tents severing up pell-mell dash melting 

Squeegee in his post to a cheesecloth silk screen evenly 

East coast tilt kings raised by servals 

Pacing up the grape vine nervous 

Poke jarred brain matter adequately curious 

Pick a perfect patsy, herd 'em back into the turnip truck 

Where a high arch pose as the nobles 

Fine yeti fur with a dire prognosis 

He prefer to mire with the openly grotesque 

Opening in a cold discotheque coat check 

Oh my low-tech bolt neck, go time, no myth 

I'm a slow death goldmine 

This lonely rose 

With thorns to show 

It grows alone 

Too hard to hold 

This lonely rose 

With thorns to show 

It grows alone 

Too hard to hold 

Too hard to hold... 

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