I ask myself whether I want to be
As open as a rose fresh and fragrant
or to be hard and cold like a rock
That weathers all that comes.
For an open rose is thrown into
A weathering storm torn and shredded it shall be.
While a rock can be hit by lightning,
Rolled by thunder, blown by wind, and poured upon
Yet it dries and seems to be unharmed.
Some say you can't be charmed?
While others are only harmed.
For I do not know any answers
I only have the questions in my mind
Those of which swirl like the sand
In the middle of the Sahara Desert.
For I do not know which I favor
The rose or the rock.
