You want the rose—
that midnight bloom dripping perfume and promise,
But you hesitate at the stem,
at the way it bites back,
In the way it demands proof.
Your hands hover,
clean, careful, undecided,
as if beauty was ever free
Or love ever gentle at first touch.
The rose was never soft.
It learned sharpness from the dirt,
learned patience from being buried,
learned survival from nights
that tried to kill it quietly.
Every petal is earned.
Every scent is paid for in blood.
Every inch of beauty remembers
who stayed
and who flinched.
You don’t get depth without damage.
You don’t get devotion without fear.
You don’t get the truth
without it cutting you open
and asking what you’re made of.
The thorn is not cruelty—
It’s the question.
How badly do you want this?
Enough to bleed?
Enough to scar?
Enough to still reach
when pain whispers turn back?
Because craving is easy.
Desire is cheap.
Anyone can stare at a rose
and swear they understand it.
But grasping it—
that costs skin,
costs comfort,
costs the lie
That love should never hurt.
The rose knows hands.
It remembers the brave ones.
The foolish ones.
The honest ones
who reached anyway.
So if you won’t bleed,
don’t beg.
If you won’t suffer,
don’t swear devotion.
If you won’t risk ruin,
don’t curse the ache of wanting.
He that dares not grasp the thorn
should never crave the rose—
not because the rose is cruel,
But because it refuses
to be loved
halfway.
🌹🩸
~~~🎵SONG LYRICS🎶~~~
THORNS FIRST
(VERSE)
You want the rose with the midnight skin,
Perfume heavy like a loaded sin,
You stare too long, but your hands stay clean,
Like beauty blooms without the in-between.
You say you’re ready, say you understand,
But truth shows up sharp in the palm of your hand.
Love never lived where comfort stayed,
It learned its name in the price you paid.
(CHORUS)
He that dares not grasp the thorn
Should never crave the rose,
You don’t get light without the cut
Or truth without the close.
If you won’t bleed, don’t beg for more,
If you won’t reach, let go,
The rose remembers honest hands,
Not the ones afraid to hold.
(VERSE)
The dirt taught patience to the root,
Buried dreams learned how to shoot,
Storms carved strength into its stem,
Pain taught it how to bloom again.
Every petal costs a scar,
Every scent remembers who you are,
It doesn’t open for almost-love,
Or hearts that quit when it gets rough.
(CHORUS)
He that dares not grasp the thorn
Should never crave the rose,
Desire talks, devotion proves
What courage really shows.
You don’t get depth without the wound,
Or fire without the smoke,
The rose keeps count of every hand
And every promise was broken.
(BRIDGE)
This isn’t cruelty, this is truth,
This is the price of being real,
The thorn just asks one honest thing—
How much of this can you feel?
Wanting’s loud, but reaching’s rare,
And bravery leaves a mark,
The rose only opens fully
To hands that brave the dark.
(FINAL CHORUS)
He that dares not grasp the thorn
Should never crave the rose,
The brave accept the cost of love,
The rest just ache and pose.
This flower bows to sacrifice,
To scars nobody knows,
It only blooms for those who choose
The thorn before the rose.
(SPOKEN WORD)
So don’t curse the ache of longing
If you never paid the pain.
Don’t swear you’re ready for the truth
If you fear what it might change.
The rose was never merciless,
It never asked for prose,
It only asked for honest hands—
He that dares not grasp the thorn
Should never crave the rose.
