Roses of blood,
Sickly sweet and bitter,
With petals so soft
And thorns so sharp,
Was there ever such a paradox as you?

Love of madness,
Painful and exuberant,
With hours so sweet
And lives so short,
Was there ever anything as fickle as you?

White of hatred,
Mean and pure,
With cloth so fine
And message so explosive,
Was there ever such a fury as yours?

Fire of God,
Righteous and destructive,
With ends so holy
And flames so hot,
Was there ever such retribution as yours?

Time of monarchy,
Swift and punishing,
With reign so certain
And absolution so firm,
Was there ever such finality as yours?