I’ll tell you what,

Lust of greedy people,

Facts about the selfish ones,

Salivation of the hungry beasts,

All those thirsty eyes contemplating at you.

They can’t stand the beauty,

Of the rose.

Cull the polished piece of bloom,

Cramp the leaves,

Tear the gleaming, fiery petals.

But look out! Don’t go to my pedicel,

You’ll prick yourself

Now look what you made me do,

What’s more pure?

My blood hue or your stinking, filthy blood?

I’ll tell you more,

Your touch makes me impure, I feel dead.

Look at your greed,

You know the bloodshed to touch me

You just want my taste so you are ready to bleed.