Field of Black Roses

Field Of Black Roses

Will you not lead me under death's silken cloak
where I may hide beneath the folds of my past;
I beg to be surrounded by its warmth,
concealed from the hate
that corners my own shadow.
On bleeding knees, I'll fall before you
if you promise me . . .
that death will sleep
where I lay,
tonight.

Take me with you under the everlasting night,
let me sleep beside you once more
in fields of charcoal, black roses
where the wind makes no sound
and the light is slave to darkness.
Let me lay down with you
in the forests of the deserted,
in the oceans of the abused;
let me feel the silence
that will surrender its kiss
upon you,
tonight.

Take my hand and lead me into God's shadow
so that I may look upon the one
who has carved his mark in my heart,
who has spit blood into my eyes.
Let me touch his face
and know that hate's lover
and anger's master
will forever hold me
in an unforgiving
embrace.

Lead me to his throne of moaning skulls
where the carpet is a sea of blood.
Let me drink from its truth,
so that I'll know my nightmares
will always turn their gaze to me,
whispering the song of the extinct.
Let me feel the pain it drips,
throw it upon me,
write it on me,
carve it on my
soul.

I can see him, standing with mockery's favour,
beckoning with a smile of death.
I follow the designs of his darkness
as he gently takes hold of my hand,
all the while staring with eyes
so empty, so . . . hating.
Under death's silken cloak
we are carried to his domain;
led into a nightmare;
thrown into my dream
of black roses.

You have led me under death's silken cloak,
you have hid me beneath the folds of my past.
No longer do I beg for it's safety and warmth
for I have found it . . . you have given it to me.
And now, I fall on bleeding knees
torn by the thorns of black roses
for you have given me
that of which I asked.
Now I am yours;
a slave in hell's
field of black
roses.