Dance do we dance like flowers in bud,
Twisted and thorny red roses smell good,
Pricked by the thorns and now drawing my blood,
It's deep red and it hurts so painfully but good,
The perfume the fragrance all rolled into one,
The blood is now clotting and the dance is quite good,
Those roses all thorny and covered in blood,
So dance do we dance its morning thank god.
