The mirrors in the room go black and blue

On a sunday morning in her saturday shoes

We don't choose who we love

We don't choose.

The lights over the midway melt on the street

In a sunday shoes, with her saturday feet

She don't love who he choose

She don't need what she use.

Daylight comes and exposes

Saturday's bruises and cold roses

Cold roses.

Nothing but the sunlight will help you grow

From underneath your bed you can't see the window

We don't choose what we see

We don't choose.

Fortunate and angry just like a child

All that money buys you medicine but can't buy you time

We don't choose what we love

And she don't need what she got.

Daylight comes and exposes

Saturday's bruises and cold roses

Cold roses.

Cold roses

Cold roses

Cold roses...