Roses
Davide Rossi, Imelda May, Tim Bran
Who will throw me roses
At the final curtain call?
Who will clap and stamp and chant
In an empty music hall?
I've lived every word I write
And acted up under overlights
But when you go home
Arm in arm
I go back to an empty room
No afterglow
After the aftershow
The sacrifice
For art I suppose
It imitates life you see
Limitates privacy
I try to give all of me
But hate the cold reality that
Let's me live out on the stage
My fantasy when what I really crave is
Not 'like' from some
But love from one
So who will throw mе roses?