She's a painting outta focus with no good sense of intention she's authentic She's a model of disaster with a heart of revolution She's so innocent, but guilty's her plea Everybody wants to save her from herself They really want to save themselves
She's got the grace, of a tourist, with the charm of demolition She's a poem without meter or rhyme a random design of a flower Like a rose no one really knows She's a master piece deserving restoration or condemnation time will tell us If she's a lifer or a decomposuer she's the rose no one really knows