They deny what I aspire
Vile is what they desire

With life they want to play
Their hearts have turned to clay

Indeed they utterly loose
Truth they never wish to choose

They surly crave to win
But all they worship is sin

What they cry; is total lie
Yet they aspire to be high

They falsely reveal pure truth
Then they long for ripened fruit

They swell dark, cease white
Blinding witty stars of night

For them there’s only black
To limpidness is their back

They chop wings of dove
Then slaughter innocence of love

For them, unbroken is hate
They cunningly harvest their fate

They claim love has born
But all they sow, is a thorn

No way can trust come close
Died has this bloomed red rose