She was a flower for the taking
Her beauty cut just like a knife
He was a banker from Macon
He swore to lover her all his life
He bought her a mansion on a mountain
With a formal garden and a lot of 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
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 stares at the garden
Not a trace of her was ever found
Every time he talks about her
You can see the fire in his eyes
He says, "I would walk through hell on Sunday,
to keep my rose in paradise"
Now there's a rose out in the garden
Its beauty cuts just like a knife
They say it even grows in the winter time
And blooms in the dead of the night