A Bouquet of White Roses and Red Paint

A Bouquet of White Roses and Red Paint

She looked so sweet, with tender eye
I held her in my arms on nights she cry
Her hair was soft and idea pure
When I was mad she was my cure
One spring morn' I picked a rose
White as snow 'twas the one I chose
Dressed as a penguin down the road I walk
My eyes were dead I dared not talk
The coldness by my side was odd
Where was this warmth that was known as God?
The sky grew dark as I drew near
No one there to call my dear
The soft murmurs the poeple gather round
To stare at the mound formed in the ground
The magpie talked at the head of the group
He was so old he had to stoop
He talked of tales I thought as a lie
It was not right that she should die
From my vest I took a brush
And dipped it paint, red and lush
I took that paint and took the rose
I paused as I heard the murder of crows
With bloody brush I drew on the flower
With each stroke it grew in power
My tears would stain and run the paint
I just redrew to fill that taint
I placed the rose on my sweet's tomb
Bringing me memories of her silent doom
Alice and Wonderland was her favorite story
I thought the gesture would return her glory.