CAMELOT FANTASIES

DARK THE ROSE

Dark, is the rose that weeps.
That it seeps, with the tears ov blood.
Tainted, by the sips of rage.
Put under siege, the thorn ov it's blunt.
Layered, within it's page.
Lives engraved, by the ink ov that thorn.
Gently, as we turn the page.
Taunted is the Lange,  blood runs thick thru it's pours.
The Reaper keeps, the dead enraged.
With souls engaged, darker the rose doth weep.