Born to die, born to die
no shahid I.
I pricked my finger on a thorn
of the Rose of Sharon.
The blood that flowed so berry bright
glowed angrily against the night
made the rose seem dull and coarse-
foolish even.
I set out across the sands
traveled through the scorching land
searched cold empty skies for hope-
but it seems that all is lost.
fanatic hunger in their eyes
they've forgotten how to cry
blinded by the beauty of a rose
and born to die.