THE ROSE OF THIS WORLD THE ROSE OF THIS WORLD THE ROSE OF THIS WORLD… IS ITS THORNS… IT’S SKY, BANNERS RAGGED AND TORN. ABOVE, THE SLATE GREY OF THE TOMB. BELOW, THE RECEIVING BLACK OF THE WOMB.
FROM STAR LIGHT, TO BLANK NIGHT… WE DRIFT IN DREAMS. FROM STAR LIGHT, TO BLANK NIGHT… WE DRIFT IN DREAMS, WE DRIFT IN NULLITY…
THE ROSE OF THIS WORLD, IS ITS THORNS, THE THORNS OF THIS WORLD ARE ITS ROSE.
FROM NOTHING HENSE NOTHING. NO WILL TO DEPOSE.
FROM BIRTH RITE TO FINAL NIGHT OUR FATE IS SEALED AND CLOSED.
LIKE THE WINGED BIRD IN FLIGHT, OUR PREDICTIONS FALL. BLIND OMISSIONS ALL…
STAGGER, EYES BURNED BY THE SUN. THE VIOLENCE OF EVENTIDE, ALL BUT BEGUN THE SKY RED WITH HOPES MYARTERED AND ROPED TO A STONE GOD OF WATER, A LAMB HUED BY SLAUGHTER.
HERE-IN GROWS, THE PAIN OF THIS WORLD AND ITS ROSE… (THE SWEETEST ROSE, NEAR THE SHARPEST THORN GROWS…)