CRUCIFY THE ROSES

The black wood torched as an old man’s dying face

The strewn embers still sizzle, tears roll down, I can’t bear no longer
I think…
How, in a heap of blistering grey ash the door stands?
The scorched roses still call you to rest your foot, in the simmering ashes

Had you just nailed the door, or did you crucify the roses?

You’d held a wreath of roses in one hand & a nail in the other
It took just one blow, to stab it through the lumber
I wonder…
Wasn’t that His barb crown, now dead center of the foyer?
But if that wasn’t the wreath, maybe it wasn’t the timber either.

Had you just nailed the door or did you just crucify the roses?
The utopia scorching in front of your eyes
They too know your time has passed.
I believe…
You had crucified the roses
Crucify the roses…