Bones and Roses

A field of roses, a sea of bones, Which to rule? And which to hide from Death by crossing over lands which cannot be found by those who do not know where it is. And cannot be gotten to, without first being hopelessly ungotten to. Savvy? But then do ya really, for is it ambition which makes all of our choices, or is it the subconscious love which chooses for us; which severs all bonds to make us weak when we need to be strong. Which way will it take you in the end: Well, where in the hell do ya want to go? If guilt does not set ya any further back, then your friends, aye, will most surely do.