All the doom that gets covered up
In all the pretty ****** blooms.
Roses, Poppies, and Scarlet Ladies' Tresses,
See how sanguineous they are rolling over the peaks and valleys?
Oh, how they can be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen
When they get crushed under the horse-carts
And scatter their ashes across the cobblestones
Crowds will look away
but could I stare forever
— The End —