The Black Rose beckons me Like the Fiddler in the stream of old & the maple leaf flying in a distant breeze. Symbols of longevity, prosperity & Subtle truths I feel the calling of the wind Yet the love of the rose remains & With the fading Fiddler I cannot trust I waver about the paths before me Across the fields of dreams Nymphs of youthful juices roam In pursuit of hearts of eager young men Lost to unspoken dreams I was once lost; a man without purpose Once lost in the illusions of truth Truths now obliterated Truncated Stewed and steamed & Soon to be purged & cleansed from this Feeble corpse of manliness The Black Rose beckons me The Fiddler knows my name The Maple leaf โฆ a wrapper at best For my final rest
