your hair smells of rose bled beautty the days of suffering are over for us, but it will not end in bitter verses, nor sweetened kisses we were brought here by, purgatory curses we will leave this place in suicidal wishes look apon those stars, pick a pocket in your name The Blood content of pure bled conflict and the suffering we thought we could tame chared trees weep over, lost song scripts of mellow rain drops which drowns our motivation This was my Final Fantasy