Appear that thou, but deprive of deception
Among thy eye
of sense. And redeem corruption
But dampen illness, not to ail thee of vision
To blind but to open to question but
Send me a dead rose, not from the heart but the hand
For me to create loss with of only a thorn shall understand.
Become not my pale warrior, for thy flesh is of depend
Among my palm with kindness for I shall mend offend.