He is like a withered rose, addicted to the pain.
Trapped within this world, he has only himself to blame.
He can see the road ahead clearly, it’s a storm of thunder rain.
Yet he marches on, for he knows from this he cannot refrain.
His voice has lost its charm, he needs it back to clear the darkness.
Eyes of fire, his constant desires, he has lost it all in one go.
I pity for this boy for he pretends to be strong.
He pretends to be clever, he pretends to see the wrongs.
They break his thorns and rip off his petals, yet he has to return to them with just one call.
What power do they posses over him that would make such a strong boy fall?
I feel sorry for this boy, for he has become a puppet in their show.
Ready to dance on their commands, they laugh at him and he doesn’t even know.
My heart aches for him, as I fear the very worst.
Will he ever see the light or is he destined to live this curse?
I have not any words left for him, they’ve been preached so many times before.
and just as it seems that he has finally understood… they will knock and he will have to answer the door.
As each day goes by, I will mourn this rose.
Slowly fading away from his head to the tips of his toes.
I cry for him inside where no one can see..
For I am him and sadly this withered rose is me.
