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Black Roses
Children running in gas masks,
was never an idea thought in vein.
but here, oh here,
it makes an ordinary street lane.

child killing women;
wouldn’t ever be thought fair dames.
but here, oh here,
she makes a knight, all the same.

for love shares not here;
in a town of feelings the same.
because here, oh here,
disease spreads, killing each and every vein.

this disease remains unlike others,
colonising our fair town in fear.
our own precautions,
as we trip and fall, down, down, down.

and if we open our eyes,
and try our best for something to be said;
maybe they’ll notice us!
and maybe you’ll be dead!

ring around the rosie,
a pocket full of posers!
a tissue, is torn;
and we’ll all fall down!

a deep abyss;
blue, red and black!
crimson fills our hands,
our necks, and our horrored backs!

trees weighed down to the ground!
knives in fallen hands!
because here, oh here;
we’ll kill ourselves for fun!

and we are manic!
and we are free!
and we are dead!
and no one has seen!
© Rose On The Moon