she’s a painting outta focus with no good sense of intention she’s authentic
she’s a model of disaster with a heart of revolution
she’s so innocent, but guilty’s her plea
everybody wants to save her from herself, they really want to save themselves
she’s got the grace of a tourist, with the charm of demolition
she’s a poem without meter or rhyme a random design
of a flower like a rose no one really knows
she’s a master-piece deserving restoration or condemnation time will tell us
if she’s a lifer or a decomposuer she is rose, no one really knows
