My pen is a thorn from a broken rose
Torn from the stem as my fingers froze
The blood formed my ink, ruby red drops
Flourishing nightmares that never stop
Script flows over the page in spirited rhyme
Lazy days spent that were so sublime
And when you are not here, my heart gives a sigh
A parched spot in the desert that gave up and died
The thorn is my tool, it assists and allows
A promise, a token, a lovingly made vow
My Last Will and Testament, lavished in blood
Will leave you beneficiary of all in me that was good
