chris young
rose in paradise
She was a flower for the takin' Her beauty cut just like a knife And he was a banker from Macon Swore he'd love her all his life Bought her a mansion on a mountain With a formal garden and a lot a land But paradise became her prison That Georgia banker was a jealous man Every time he'd talk about her, You could see the fire in his eyes He'd say, I would walk through Hell on Sunday, To keep my rose in paradise He hired a man to tend the garden, To keep an eye on her while he was gone Some say they ran away together Some say that gardener left alone Now the banker is an old man And the mansion's crum-ble-ing down He sits all day and stares at the garden Not a trace of her was ever found Every time he talks about her You can see the fire in his eyes He'd say, "I would walk through Hell on Sunday To keep my rose in paradise Now there's a rose out in the garden Its beauty cuts just like a knife They say that it even grows in the winter time And blooms in the dead of the night