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A wounded rose
In my nightly dreams I see
A wounded rose that calls to me
She tells of how her dark despair
Has left her lying, bleeding there
She sings her song of love and loss
She warns me of her plight, her cross
And to her end she must confess
That she will never lay to rest
And so the Rose continues on
To tell of dreams and passions gone
She cries and whimpers through the night
Her wilting petals, a morbid sight
When all but once I realize
As morning comes and I arise
This bleeding Rose, her life, her loss
Is the song I sing, my heavy cross
Be wary of the Rose that bleeds
That beckons to you in darkest dreams
For the story that she tells
Is your future foretold, your personal hell
