People always say that diamonds are forever.
Well so are Mondays and so are stains,
And other things I'd name if I were more clever.
So I choose the rose to carry through the rains.
For what's more like love than something that dies,
And what's my love for you if not the act
Of washing out the vase and setting it to dry,
And then getting more -- yes, that's the pact --
For nothing's more like love than trying it again.
And today we'll kiss and tomorrow we'll cry,
But when we love again, well, it'll be a new rose then.
For this time you'll have set the vase out to dry,
And I will watch as you carefully make our bed,
And decide that I'd love to make it instead.