A rose in the garden grows ever sweeter. Lovely white petals soften a thorny demeanor. Though twinkling between twilights its pale beauty casts gloom; a baneful silk shadow by light of the moon. Safe in the small hours, but deadly at dawn: the buds draw in, the thorns begin to yawn. If stung in the light there's no time to feel sick. The petals glow red as blood from the prick. Forget your family, your life, and your friends. Off to a new garden you roam to make amends. To his mistress, the moon, the rose does take. Another stranger - a sacrifice - for his mistake. You won't wonder or think. Your mind has gone. As you lie and wait for the last light has shone. When daylight has faded; now covered in dirt. You twist and tangle as stems with white flowers, from your skin, begin to spurt.