Hand in hand with innocence
We feel how great our influence
Its purity is evidence
Of more than what we’re told
The budding rose with fragrance sweet
One instant crushed by wayward feet
Its youthful beauty too soon greets
The filth of earth and death of cold
Wildflowers grow beside the rose
They give her strength as up she grows
And when she blooms the world will know
How strong this rose can be
But, weeds– they stunt the rose’s start
They turn her to a bleeding heart
And this pure rose is torn apart
By ruthless jealousy
A budding rose, a toddling child
Fragile, beautiful and mild
Waiting to be free and wild
And never either one
For freedom, every wild one knows
Comes from the pureness of a rose
And every wayward seed that grows
Defiles when it has done
Some seeds seem harmless, thoughtless words
Muttered, uttered, maybe slurred
But e’en the purest rose that heard
Is stunted by the sound
And when the sunlight’s blocked by screens
Water poured out through machines
Pumping from polluted streams
Roots lie above the ground
One shake, one storm, and petals fall
Soon the fierce wind shall take them all
What’s left of this last rose we’ll call
The name of Rubble Rose
“Rubble Rose, we wish we knew
All the seeds that grew near you
But we can’t cut weeds that grew
And turned you to rubble rose”
While Rubble blew over the asphalt field
All the wounds that never healed
Hurt we thought you couldn’t even feel
Proved how much you could hold.
Hand in hand with innocence
We feel how great our influence.
Her purity is evidence
Of more than what we’re told.

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