The Withering Rose

It was in the palm of my hand, I'll never understand why roses die after their cut I've loved and touch the softness of the petals of our love but now my heart cries out in pain. Should I leave you now, before I get too hurt should I cut the roses and let them die Should I run away, to this loneliness or turn back and seek my fate A rose was in each of our hands, we cut the stems and put them in our vase Like our love, they flourished for awhile but in the end, they curled up and died Should I leave you now, before I get to hurt should I cut the roses and let them die Should I run away, to this loneliness, or turn back and seek my fate A rose was in the palm of my hands, its withering, I'll never understand