White roses on the floor
Surround the bed of a whore
Her throat slit
Her blood the only colour in the room
Her death gives this place life
What is sacrifice, to a woman
Who gives away virgin days heartily
Feels accomplishment
In the work of sin
An ode to you
Who belong to none, but your own desire
Those wants, those needs
Your soul craves
Things that cannot be
That taint your purity
Haunt your sleepless nights
Like the blood of a whore, on a white rose floor
She fell hard
Her pain is servre
But now it is burned away like...
Red, red blood.
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