I sold my soul, I sold my soul, too far back to remember, all for nothing but the gift more rare than roses in December.
The gift of friends, of Love, of Hope, that will soon be crushed to ash.
Nothing is eternal, and maybe my choice seems rash, but there's not a second I would change if I could buy it back.
Some say I'm doomed, blind, a Fool, for choosing this awful Fate,
But it is better to love and remember and burn in Satan's grate.
I sold my soul I sold my soul, for nothing so rare and wonderful, as friendship, love's roses in December
And if my friends choose not the same, then what have I truly lost?
Abandonment is a crueler Hell, not of Flame, but Frost.
If nought exists, in all of this, no meaning here remain, then why would I choose Heaven with them?
It would cause more pain.
And so if Life's Passion play does not allow encore, remember I died not for Heaven, but the Hope of something More
And if I be Fool as judged to be, remember the lesson I taught.
Methinks the world would be better, if I did die for nought.
So tell me beautiful lies, and make me forget the truth.
I'd rather be entranced and pay, than have Knowledge and live under His roof.
Lie to me a little bit longer, tell me beautiful things, if but lies I can remember, I'll never feel the sting.
Dance me around in a waltz once again, everyone's faces but blurs,
Dizzy me before you throw me down, and I will gladly lie with the curs.
Topic: Roses in December (Read 2561 times)