One more rose

If your roses of red
make me violently blue,
can your frustration with fear
conquer you?

If the green in my eyes
is the tone in my soul,
will I know if it’s ready,
or if it’s grown too old?

A glass full of flowers
that have died away,
once flashed the room yellow,
now are dark and gray.

The brown of the walls,
the decay of love
that has tried to move on,
but clings to what once was.

Oh your red roses
and my sea of tears,
cue up the onslaught
for one thousand years.

I have lived many lives,
ran away in vain from my death.
But now I know this dark, black world
truly knows what is best.

So before you cry,
think of this:
You have hope,
it’s not the end.

Your roses live on,
another day,
to fade out my blues
far away.

And I’ll be here
again to try
to live it through
again and die.

But I don’t come back
this last time.
You’re on your own.
You’re in my mind.

Love lives on,
I know it’s true,
but people die.
Like me and you.

So when I’m gone,
and I will be soon,
my body disappears,
but my soul is in you.

So pick a rose
once more for me.
I’ll cure your blues,
just wait and see.

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