I miss the glory of
your golden showers
putting out the fires on my head.
I miss your witching hour
I miss you loving me like death...
I miss your dread!
You used to mourn
so beautifully
that I'd think I was dead
but, the black roses you sent,
I always held till I bled.

But,
The dead don't bleed

the soul's light dims
and my baby smiles so grim
I know
black roses bloom for two
above my earthen room
We're in love...