Decom-Posuer

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 masterpiece deserving
Restoration or condemption
Time will tell us
Is she a lifer
Or a decom-poseur?
She is rose
No one really knows