• I see a rose,
    wilted on the table,
    as it sits there,
    in the dark,I wonder.....

    What happened to this
    beautiful rose of blood red?
    why did it wither?

    How could someone just leave it?
    let it die,be crushed by everyone.
    Why didn't someone help it?
    Fix it,love it,care for it?

    Did anyone even notice?
    Even care about it?
    Now all thats left
    is a black,hurt and wilted rose

    Then come some guys.
    They see the rose and go to it
    I feel a little better
    but what,what are they doing?

    As I sit there and watch,
    They circle the rose
    one by one the petals are pulled
    and every time one is taken

    A pain,so deadly,so hurtful
    is filled in my heart
    like a thousand knives.
    I'm being stabbed!

    The rose is my heart