O Rose thou art sick the invisible worm
That flies in the night in the howling storm:
Has found out thy bed of crimson joy:
And his dark secret love does thy life destroy
Every night and every morn
Some to misery are born
Every morn and every night
Some are born to endless night
Some are born to endless night
Some are born to sweet delight
That flies in the night in the howling storm:
Has found out thy bed of crimson joy:
And his dark secret love does thy life destroy
Every night and every morn
Some to misery are born
Every morn and every night
Some are born to endless night
Some are born to endless night
Some are born to sweet delight
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