Forever blooming her tales of misery,
spinning her mystic fortune,
creating hypnotic,
melodic,
artistic death.
She guides to the grave,
with but a single glance,
dazzling and gleaming,
magnificant in the night.
Her rhyme is soothing,
pulling consiousness under,
falling to the ground,
like the claps of thunder.
The waves upon the shore,
bare no resemblance,
only empty to the core.
the moon sings her lonely tune,
knowing that she'll be forgotten soon,
but tonight she gets her justice
as the wind cries,
"Welcome to the endless rose".
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