i seek new moons mirrored in a blood-filled bog
fog, thick and thirsty, encloses the woods
where new roses shrivel and wither to black
then back again in spring white, red and pink
new petals to be plucked by the hand of the dead
even the fog yearns to be tinged red
no white now and pink has gone
to feed in the land where dead hearts carry on
the petals once open never ended their quest
to be blessed with maturity and fertility
and tender young thorns cannot protect
a flower's sweet virginity

the dead eyes of reapers must hunger for youth
to consume and then throw away
the full moon sees the bog then flood with blood
as the centers of the flowers sink and petals float up
leaving a small trace of what once was uncorrupted
so many bouquets weigh the bog's bottom down
the weight of so many red, white and pink
even roses decomposing emit a stink
the sap from the stems mixed with long stagnant wet
floats hopelessly, the peat eats the leftover blood
the moon sees a hunger who never retreats

the bog has begun again to flood
a full moon is not needed to eat up the new
and many moonless nights attest
that in the deepest darkest night
the vampire hunts the best

don't stay open, young roses, to seek the star light
in the night, close your petals and hold them closed tight
don't look at that moon or that light from the stars
keep your senses awake but keep your soft eyes closed
there are those of the night with dark secrets to keep
you are sheep for the wolves who prowl proud in the dark
who pull off each petal to see flowers die
like a sadistic child pulls the wings off a fly
pretend you are dead and have no life to give
the mad hungry fangs need your young blood to live
near where you grow there's a blood-filled bog
and in spring the fog in the forest is thick
quick! close your petals as tight as you can
that man is not young like you and not a man