| Bled and dead, a rose grows red
|
| Fed soil tainted by strife
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| Long and lush, this verdant bush
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| Will press its' course of life
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| Underneath the black, packed soil
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| A scream begs to arise
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| Silenced by the summer up above
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| She’s forced to hide
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| But lo! |
| It’s only time that keeps her spirit chained
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| Entwined and blind by roots that bind deep in her blue remains
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| The rainy season soon will send its gift, and wet the ground
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| And this town will know what sadly grows neath' this tainted mound
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| Bloom in gloom outside a window to a bedded room
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| Brush and thrust the boughs of my distress. |
| The witness moon
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| Crimson buds fed by the blood scratch softly on the pane
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| I distract the dreamers there
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| In fact I scream their name
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| But lo! |
| These summer nights will cipher out my code
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| When the waking ones rise, rub their eyes from ill repose
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| Subliminal- the criminal act settles in their brain
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| And they will dig to see their vision beget my remains
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| As I whisper gently, and we both go crazy, strike the root up from the soil
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| Relocate the annoyance
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| Snag my wrist…
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| It leads the way…
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| I’m found
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| Bled and dead a rose grows red
|
| Bled and dead her rose grows red |