A rose; a rose with a thorn; torn from the ground; torn from the roots on down.
A heart beating as one with its lover in sync, as an ocean tide lapping the sand.
Don’t rip it apart lover, keep your heart close to mine.
You pick it up; the rose; and you admire its beauty
Beautiful like a newborn fawn falling in love.
The fragrance; the beauty; the feel.
Where is your lover? Where did he go? Has he become the thorn?
The thorn pierces your skin like a dagger; it pierces your heart.
Where did your lover go?
The rose is gone; the thorn remains.
The searing agony…The pain
Where is your lover?
The tide rolls away, the fawn grows old; where did your lover go?
You dropped the rose, you let go…
Your heart racing, beating a path through your chest… you’ve let your lover go.
The thorn remains as blood trickles down; it stains the sand a crimson brown. As you remove the thorn your heart continues to race beating you down.
Bring your lover back; take away the pain.
It’s time; time to find your lover. Bring him home.
Rolling out with tide, you find him; find him in turmoil with the tide, struggling to stay with his lover.
Not because he don’t want to but more because he can’t.
Your lover left the rose only after taking the thorns.
You see there were more…
He took all he could to protect his lover only to find one more.
Bring your lover home.
Stained by the sea struggling to survive you find a rose; a rose without a thorn, missing; broken off a rose without a thorn; bring your lover home…