Just like roses grow red and full from what is decomposed,
Our affectionate symbol of arbitrary love--
I am washed up on the shores of completion
The waves lap sweetly at my finished existence

After writing a song
You sit and stare at the wall
Like wow, did I really just do that?
After giving your large hands to a kind wind
That blows some other ship to port

And some are crashed in a storm
And others are stranded far away...

The sweetness that's known brings us full to a clothes,
When ships full of roses arrive unopposed.