Greetings from the City of Roses

We sing a song of borrowed time,

A twisted tale of you and me.

You make me feel in eloquent

When all I've known how to spin are words.

But as I lie, unearthed and shaken,

You lay your fragile rose

Upon my breast.

Your lips, they whisper, "Not yet."

For the only one that can understand a sinner

Is another sinner themself

And those who understand death are pulled

Back to the face in a crowd among the living.

Because souls know signals, eyes send them, and yet,

It's not truly understood anywhere else but the heart.

(So smile with me, for now we are free

Forever until the end.)