I walk upon this lonely road in a garden of the damned,
Where everyone will sleep one day and the ones who want to rot.
Their flowers wilt and spoil and brown from famine;
It isn’t true when people say they haven’t fought.
There’s blood among roses and posies and wildflowers,
And you don’t need thorns to make it so.
They slowly bleed up to the final hour;
Then nothing can save them and they feel alone.
There’s blood in the leaves and blood in the trees, everything decked in crimson,
No one seems to notice – except us, we do;
I wonder if they’re […]