On the Inside

On the inside the sun still shines,
And the rain falls down;
But the sun and rain are prisoners too,
When morning comes around.
On the inside the roses grow;
They don't mind the stoney ground;
But the roses here are prisoners too,
When morning comes around.
He used to give me roses,
I wish he could again;
But that was on the outside,
An things were different then.