Burnt Roses
There was a house of pleasure
That often was a home
To many of us gentlemen
That sometimes like to roam
Outside of Belzie City
It’s flowers were on display
Fragrant toys for the naughty boys
Who came to play and pay
No amount of Belikin
Could douse the blazing fire
Lingerie and condoms
Loves saddest funeral pyre
But spring always follows summer
So let us not be sad
Someone will build another
So boys can still be bad
Rose Collector