In this field where red roses die,
turns black and shrivels and dry,
Is where tulips thrive,
Yellow and white they multiply,
Dyed grey is the sky,
As storm clouds roll by,
An icy wind bites, despite
The raging fire inside.
Here, love is despised
As all is deprived.
This is where dreams, hope, and desire
Shall meet its demise
In solitude, due time.