I have been cleansed
by the hard nut of power
over me.Naked and tense
did I march to the shower
sensing treachery.
Blows on my head
and it's dark in the tower
of my enemy.
And death painted roses on my cheeks.
Flesh tightly pressed
and I burst into flower.
Memory.
Poured into depths
of the earth's own bower
joining family.
I have been drenched
by the tears of my sorrow.
Grieving, grieving, grieving.
Ah, death painted roses on my cheeks.
The rock or the hard place,
the root or the rind.
The clenching of fists,
and the closing of eyes.
Burgeoning grief wells,
the song is a cry.
The deepening breath
fills the place
where there's no room for lies.
We are a lens
for the eyes of tomorrow,
measuring sanity.
Mingled, immense,
do we give you the power,
of liberty.
Death painted roses on my cheeks.
Death painted roses on my cheeks.
Death painted roses on our cheeks.
