some say love it is a river that drowns the tender reed.some say love it is a razor that leaves your soul to bleed.some say love it is a hunger an endless aching need.i say love it is a flower and you its only seed.its the one who wont be taken who cannot seem to give.and the soul afraid of dyin that never learns to live.just remember in the winter far beneath the bitter snow.lies the seed that with the suns love in the spring becomes the rose