At night the rose is dark
At night a black bull
flies from the rose
It pierces the skin
with its two silver horns

At night the rose is dark
The spilt blood
of the hapless passer-by
drips from its horns

At night the rose is dark

But in daylight
the rose's black bull
is only a shadow
lying in ambush

So beware
when you pick
the rose
Beware

Carry a dagger
close to your heart
to butcher
that bull

which lies
all day
folded in petals
at the heart of the rose