• When we die one thing remains,
    the crimson red that always stains,
    when our hearts break we fall apart,
    the red bloods flow might just then start,
    and if the color red does stop,
    then so do we our bloods last drop,
    the blood man spills for his own gain,
    shall one day bring him his earned pain,
    and if the sun does once burn red,
    and then flash out we'll all be dead.