Marooned alone in its red
The red rose, rose up from the dead
Cut below its neck and head
Plucked and stuck in fake dirt beds
.
The cut gleaming in intricate glass
From lower gardens without a vase
Delivered from the poor to first class
Waiting behind doors for open mass
.
Can richer Gods buy richer suns?
Will those with power ever be done?
Eyes burrow down into their green
Blinding them to a stolen dream
.
Utopia is a piece of mind
Sent way down into the lower spine
Not knowing the taste of exquisite wine
But heavens reward is a challis divine
.
Let them spend our fun today
And enter eternity to waste away
A rose bud with a thorny prick
A rich lived rose never picked
