Once I was told, that the roses are red, and violets are blue, so much life wasted, to found nothing under those that were true. A poem which I find intrigued, as it found no answer except feeling of remorse. But why are these roses are coloured in blue, and why does these violets I see is red? As the colour drips down colouring the white pavement, I sigh. So I see, roses are blue, and violets are red, so much I believe if it's true, as so much blood spilled upon this flowers that bled. A sinister impression, but all was a dream that were to be just hallucinations. It kills for blood upon the shattered coloured flowers. For nothing was to be gain, as left was only animosity towards the live's that we lead.
Freed’s Heart...
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