Текст: Waylon Jennings. Music Inside. Rose in Paradise.

She was a flower for the takin'
Her beauty cut just like a knife
He was a banker from Macon
He swore he'd love her all a his life

He bought her a mansion on the 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
And 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
That mansion's crumbling down
He sits all day and he stares at the garden
Not a trace of her was ever found

Every time he'd talks 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"

Now there's a rose out in the garden
It's beauty cuts just like a knife
They say that it even grows in the winter time
And blooms in the dead of the night