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's the rose no one really knows