You try to fix a withered rose
After you let it die.
You try to fix that which has no hope,
Perhaps it’s to shield your own heart
From the pain and ordeal of guilt.
Or perhaps it is to forget the past
Where you think you committed your sin.
You try to keep it from withering further,
That which is already dead.
You bring it light, bring it water
And it thinks it is kindness.
Perhaps your heart is beating too loudly
For you to hear its voice
That warns you not to act out of pity
That was born from your guilt.
Perhaps the reason you think to yourself
A little too loudly
Is because you’re afraid to listen
As the rose delivers the sentence
That you think you deserve.
But if you could silence those thoughts for a moment,
Perhaps you could hear it say
That there was never a debt,
That no one is to blame
As long as your light doesn’t fade away.