Rose Child
There was a rose garden
Vibrant and full of life
The prince poured
His love into the roses
Every night.
But the roses kept
Pricking his fingers.
His blood dripped
Onto the floor
They lapped it up
Growing more and more
Till the prince ran dry
With no more blood to spill
He left the roses
To die on their hill.
So full of fright they cried
Every night till sunrise
And from their grief
A child was born
Twisted and rotten
A head full of thorns.
They nurses the wretched child
With the blood of the prince
That was coursing inside.
She sucked and sucked
till the roses turned white
as the moon hanging high in the sky.
The roses withered as the last drop
of blood left their veins.
And down from hill the child did climb
Searching for a reason
for all the pain inside.
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