Red, the colour of roses,
they bloom in the midsummer heat
a dark night, a deep night.
The dappled moonlight
the only light
greying the glades
with cold, dark moonlight.
A night for deeds
of crime of thought of passionate drought.
Red, the colour of blood
in mine still-beating heart,
the only warmth in my cold, bluish veins,
Silence,
the only blessing for my pains.
Silence,
the only answer left for my pains.
Freely given, unwillingly received, poison'd to keep.
But keep, bitterly,
in the glades of cascading silence,
with only the wailing moon,
spilling her pale blood
on this dark night, deep night.