Red Redemption

Duration

8:21

Genres

Metal

Description

Lyrics

You blame me, Cries the rose, For my misfortunes, And inability to bear fruit, Now I see you are truly cruel, And do not understand, What you talk about so wisely, For it was never by my choice, That I should be cut down, Again and again, Before I could produce fruit, But, my rose, Answers the voice, You have born fruit, So wonderfully, And in your dreams, Your vines have covered the world, And your dreams were once reality, When you could see nothing but your shoots, And offspring around you, Understand, rose, That you had one pure root, That spread across the world, To make it green and lush, The cruel vine was never more than you, For, without you, it would be naught, You, rose, were its origin, And the origin of the whole lush world, But how can this be so, Asks the rose, When I could see my roots, As I can see them now, Unearthed and black, They are dead, Through and through, How could they bring life, And how could the desert become lush, The voice asks in turn, Yet you saw it full of life, The same life born of your pure root, Which had room to grow, Once your black ones were uprooted, And grew all the vegetation, And even the vine that towered above you, The vine that could not kill you, Because, though it tried to use the others, To only its own advantage, It was still bound to you, By the laws of nature, And could not cut you off, From the sunlight it consumed, Then, the rose becomes dismayed, And is filled with shame, It was I who brought destruction to myself, then, He says, For when I wished the plants to die, They did, for I was they, And they were I, How blessed I was, He wails, And now, by my choosing, It has all been eaten away, Then the rose listens for the wind, To further berate him, But when condemnation does not come, He becomes bolder in his conversation, Please, dear wind, He pleads, Will you blow me over, And tear me from the earth, See all that I am, And take it into your own powerful hands, That I may land where I will, According to your judgment, And take root again, To bear fruit, And be pleasurable, To your master, Yes, Says the wind, As your wish of slow dry death, And desire for the desert were fulfilled, So will I grant you a second chance, To loose control, And see your destiny unfold, One far greater than what you are now, And far past your understanding, For your beauty was not made for seclusion, And you are truly, The reddest rose of all, So then upon him pours the wind-blown rain, And his pedals are disturbed, The sand is torn from under him, And his roots are revealed, They are black and they are dead, And the rose finally understands, Why he is black and rot and dead, After all these years, For a house divided cannot stand, Nor can one built on the sand.