The black rose sways in the gray,
Naught to be seen by the golden spark
Death is near in his jolly sleigh

The spectrals bloated mouth has not much to say
It’s body deformed and the texture of bark
The black rose sways in the gray

As time goes, the ash starts to decay
The rope lurching as a breeze makes its arc
Death is near in his jolly sleigh

The carrion crow is still at bay
But the ragged tree is an obvious mark
The black rose sways in the gray

The white dandelion went astray
creating the barbed lark
Death is near in his jolly sleigh

The arms of the tree are covered in a spray
for the white dandelion did not wish to hark
The black rose sways in the gray
Death is here in his jolly sleigh