1 November 2012
He killed her and he left her, Her corpse a broken mess, Upon an open, empty grave, Waiting to be blessed.
Along her skin's her wedding dress, In tatters and in tears, She lies there a bloody corpse, Yet no one really cares.
Her hair's a mass around her head, A halo of dark curls, Around her slender neck there's blood, Amongst that, a chain of pearls.
There's nothing there significant, But one thing on her back, A slender rose, with slender thorns, It's colour? A mottled black.
A Black Rose. • Opuss № I