Like a rose I lay, but you shall not see my fate. For flowers wilt as I funnel, Liquid lies that'll fill the bay. Now if I shall, rate me so. But even that won't fill the bay's tunnels. So let me wilt, for my melted circuits feel them so. Artists funnel my worn skin and feed the tunnels, but I'll tilt, and I'll turn, but they love me so. For I'll fall and I'll die. And I'll feed the bay's tunnels forever more.
