The Sick Rose

O Rose, thou art sick. The invisible worm.
That flies in the night. In the howling storm.
Has found out thy bed. Of crimson joy. And his dark secret love.

Does thy life destroy? Does thy life destroy? Does thy life destroy?

O Rose, thou art sick of the invisible worm.
That flies in the night in the howling storm.
Has found out thy bed of crimson joy and his dark secret love.
Has found out thy bed of crimson joy and his dark secret love.

Does thy life destroy? Does thy life destroy? Does thy life destroy?
Does thy life destroy? Does thy life destroy? Does thy life destroy?
Does thy life destroy? Does thy life destroy? Does thy life destroy?