The symbol of death,
life flying by,
the desolate end within sight.
We can still be pretty,
we can still stand strong,
like a flower fighting the frost.
Do not let your life become a pity,
do not let the people sing your song,
do not let your be lost.
Grow like the vine,
gripping everything you see,
stab like the rose,
letting them know you will not flee.