I've painted my roses with red,

Blood from my head.

The lilies white,

From my terrors at night.

The orchids pink,

From my lemonade drink.

The poppies blue,

From the cold spring dew.

The daisies yellow,

From the asylum's caramello.

The stems green,

From the sun lit marine.

The soil brown,

From his rust-gold crown.

Then midnight comes, painting them black.

My work all gone, with only a knife in the back.