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Thorns without My Rose

I never thought I’d need someone, a priest or nun, to come an’ collect me. I never thought I’d have to die. I don’t know why. I’m gettin’ old. I never thought this pleasure dome I call my home would so disrespect me. I never thought I’d see the day I’d have to say my story’s told. Why does it have to be so cold? God only knows this isn’t what I chose: thorns without my rose. I never thought the grace I’d found would turn around an' lash out an’ hurt me. I never thought the dream I had would turn out bad an’ simply fold. I never thought the socks I wear would fray an’ tear an’ one day desert me. I never thought my gloves would split, no longer fit. I thought they’d hold. Why does it have to be so cold? God only knows this isn’t what I chose: thorns without my rose.