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He holds nothing in his hands--but a rose.
And each day removing a pedal,
For each day they were together.
When the day came that the pedals were gone,
So was his love.
Now there is nothing eloquent--
There is only a stem with sharp thorns.
No longer wanting anything to do with this rose,
He gives her the stem and thorns.
As she tries to take it from him,
It cuts and rips her skin.
She sits there bleeding--crying from the pain shes enduring,
And there is nothing he can do.
For the pedals are gone,
And the stem and thorns no longer cause him pain.
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