A rose of white, so soft to hold,
She flowers bleak with winter cold,
And bloodied petals speak of scars,
That show beneath the northern stars.

She drains me dry from soul and heart,
And feeds to bleed upon my art,
Her name is sorrow, bared in grace,
The lust she drinks, I can't replace.

Her opium for pains unbound
In passion, memories are found,
This winter flower, rose of white,
Will freeze my heart another night.