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Catch The Red Til Your Dead
And down she fell,
But not to hell,
Were her bones wearily drug.
Her death she mourned
And down a slippery slope she slept
“Please, don’t come in,”
and wept; “there isn’t any room.”
Catch the red,
staunch the flow,
the river is yet wet.
“I don’t want to play this game,”
Grey is not black,
I need to go back;
“I promise I won’t complain.”
Pink buds ripped up like weeds,
the gardener distraught and forlorn.
The roses they so carefully tended
Were prematurely shorn.
Soak the wound, let it drown
Get under it; it’s over now.
And you don’t ever cry
And you don’t ever frown,
Don’t let your death get you down.
Because god knows it’s best not
To remember
that day
The you in you was swept away.
Chased out by the red
And crushed
With the weight of that bed.
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