As raindrops fall onto black roses, choirs murmur little songs. I lay there and watch as tears hit the wet grass around. Weeping women, and soulless men stand, they say a word or two, they walk away drinking my wine, in solemn they will eventually dine. I whisper words, I whisper life, but I am not heard, I hear the bitter laughs, and the words of God being read to me.

They come up to me one by one, and shake my hand. They all drop a rose, and say a little prayer. Why do they pray, it heeds no life, soon I’ll dream forever, soon, I’ll be in the sky. Rain. It keeps hitting my face, it keeps trying to wake me up, wake up, wake up. No. No, I wont, I don’t want to, I want to stay, it feels good being cold, it feels good to sleep. Sleep. Endless sleep.

The wind gusts harder, and the mourns and weeps grow louder.  I feel as if im being lifted, lifted by angels. They are so elegant, and so gentle, they mean no harm, no harm. Look down, my mind tells me, so I do. Why, why is the world on fire? Why do I see pain, and suffering, starvation and killing. Pain. Let me down, No take me away, take me away, so angels keep singing, keep lifting me up, as raindrops fall on black roses.