I'd discovered the very rarest of flowers,
a dark rose, that only blooms on sad days.
Many sailed and have yet failed to find her,
or to hear the sweet words she might say.
I know that she is real, because I dreamt her,
and I can feel those sweet words she will say.
How her voice sings of joy sometimes laughter,
while she smiles through the storms in her way.
It's not because red flowers aren't common,
but the uncommon, is much harder to find.
With a beauty, that transcends appearance,
her song my guiding lighthouse that shined.
That Baccara dwells on an island thats distant,
I correct my course, everytime that she sings.
And if God smiles on the man who's persistent,
then he'll grant, that my ship may grow wings.