My joy, the sweetest rose, lovers embrace,

which robbed me of the noose, now gone

the hangman returned. But the executioner's

procurement of this heart shall be in

vain attempts toward failure. This heart is

that of the sun, the serpent in the

clouds guides it's beat. Locked is

the engine of man, in armor of

scars and pride, awaiting the

rose to bloom again.

07/12/2011