At which place
Do we mark the death of a memory
That should have died long ago?
At which place
Do we lay down our blood covered swords
Next to our neatly wilting roses?
In a place that was once so very dark,
In a sea that was ever so shallow,
In a box that was too hollow
My Heart
Has become less of these things
Has learned to make the most
Of bloody swords
And wilted roses
Where those swords
Rusted, and old
Lay amongs a field
Where those roses
Grow alive and beautiful
Where inner beauty
Meets the power of fate
And life
At this place
We mark the death of a memory
And the birth of anew
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