Life is but a game we play
upon the stage we act our parts
but then in darkness curves we lay
in tears to cleanse our broken hearts.
Upon a silver casket lay
the rose of blood, love's red desire
and move upon the stage to play
with freezing ice and searing fire.
In waking dreams we dance macabre
and tiptoe through the falling rain
with grace and shadows steps to fall
the movements filled with joy or pain.
And sorrow break the happy mask
we wear to hide emotion passed
in morbid beauty soon to bask.
The life which death once gave.