As soft as a rose’s petal are thee
Though filled with salt and vinegar thee are
Thy beauty does nay compare near nor far
Yet thy scornful hatred blinds all that see
I can nay escape thy prison with thee
Lust and passion did thee construct thy bar
Strength of a warrior would nay go far
And one would nay know if thee would want free
With all this said I bring welcome to death
For if I can nay have the perfect wench
Then there be no need for me and my seed
So with this sword I bring forth my last breath
And concoct the vigor to quell this stench
For once the deed is done I will be freed
Though filled with salt and vinegar thee are
Thy beauty does nay compare near nor far
Yet thy scornful hatred blinds all that see
I can nay escape thy prison with thee
Lust and passion did thee construct thy bar
Strength of a warrior would nay go far
And one would nay know if thee would want free
With all this said I bring welcome to death
For if I can nay have the perfect wench
Then there be no need for me and my seed
So with this sword I bring forth my last breath
And concoct the vigor to quell this stench
For once the deed is done I will be freed
