Golden roses wilting
And their petals are falling fast.
The voices are soft and lilting
Because diseased flowers never last.

An eye blearily opening,
Takes in the light of dawn,
That shimmers from the windows
For moments before it's gone.

From slumber doth the villain peek,
Glad for another day,
But better still to turn aside
And fall asleep to stay.

In all its costumed splendor
Another morn yet wakes,
And with a final shrinking breath,
The last golden rose breaks.