Misery, my love,
Gave me a rose red on my birthday.
You kissed it. The bouquet filled my room,
But ‘twas poison—sweet memories, of you.

Misery, my life! You let down your hair,
You murdered everything, and nothing.
Your rose lived and lived
And died and died,
‘Til I was left standing alone,
Its thorny stem in fist,
Petals fallen on my chest,
‘Til every last one was gone.

Misery! I couldn’t stop the fall.
I couldn’t do anything,
But watch its petals droop and fragrance fade.
And watch little drops of blood,
Red as the rose, smarting from the prick,
Fall and mix among the petals rouge,
‘Til no one could tell which was which.