Oh, the smell of sweet perfume,
Life and fragrance, roses in bloom,
The smells of pleasure, the aroma in the room,
My senses of danger smell impending doom.

My doom can be pleasure, my doom can be sweet,
But doom isn't a word you use for a retreat.
So why does it sound like honey and wheat,
Instead of a hell full of fire and heat?

Could it be that I love but also I hate?
Could it be that I want but found it too late?
Could it be that my desire is also my bait?
My doom is my love in a confused state.

So show me the way to know what I desire,
Show me my passion, my all-consuming fire,
Give me a dream of roses in red attire,
Cast out the doom, lifting me higher and higher.

by: Chris Losh

© 1997