Decom-Poseur

She's a painting out of 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 masterpiece deserving Restoration or condemnation Time will tell us if she's a lifer or a Decomposeur She is Rose, no one really knows