The rose that bend down,
for it felt there is a clown,
someone watered it magic,
to find its no more tragic.

With all its thorns ,
ready to poke the horns,
to tear them into pieces,
as the rose will find its peace.

To find the difference,
the rose changed,
not into a sunflower,
but into a bright big beautiful.

The roots are strong,
to play string with it,
listening to the flute playing,
for all of them start blooming.

What you see changes your world,
what you think changes your word,
here, i stand with my sword,
to tear apart the heart out with no ward.