As I walk upon common ground (though its starting to cave in)
I beat around the bush with a million excuses
And as I bite the dust again,
They speak to me
comparing apples to oranges
They wish to change me

Well, I may not charm the bird of the trees
And I may not have been born with silver on my tongue
And I may have cold feet when it comes to controversial things
But at least my feelings are not as dry as bones

Well, I may not be a feast for the eyes
But at least I've cultivated a garden within
And at least I don't have feet of clay
At least I stop to smell the roses (At least I'm sorry for my sins)

I never promised anyone a rose garden
But at least I don't come with a chip on my shoulder
Oh mother, oh father why can't you remember?
That I came with the guarantee to bend.

Remember that every rose that may seem perfect,
all have their stabbing thorns
Remember that he who sows virtue reaps fame,
and that from small beginnings (like me) comes out the greatest of things