We all get stranded out in the field
with a routine of things that never yield

The happiness we so deservingly seek
Turns mundane and makes us weak

We snip and cut at everything warm
Until our bones will show what we think is the norm

Tear at our flesh and rip through our lives
becoming the things we all so despise

We make ourselves sick with the image of love
With sharp thorny roses and disease ridden doves