After watching this world go by,
For years and years,
And witnessing,
The Rose's work,
On us all.
The bloody testimonies,
Burned into their memories,
For all time.
The many sharp keys to freedom,
Stained red for all time.
The stream of crimson regret,
Flowing through a house haunted,
By pure sorrow.
My eyes darken with this knowledge.
My arm show my regret of my prying.
My voice,
Is empty.
My soul,
Is forever stained,
By the Rose's influence,
In this world,
And with this knowledge,
Comes the fact,
That soon,
Very soon,
The Rose of Death shall call to me.
Call me from this darkness,
This lonliness,
This bloody sorrow.
Call me home,
Where I am welcome.
Where mirrors show my beauty,
And not my flaws.
Where no one sees the scars,
Where everyone loves me,
And no one is harsh.
Where light can overcome darkness,
And joy rules over sorrow.
But until it calls for me,
I shall sit,
And watch this world go by.
Watching all the Rose's work,
And realizing,
That we all live,
By the will of the Rose.