Roses are Dead

In the story of red rose who was a lover of the Count
The only way to become mortal was to prick the thorn of the rose and drink the blood of the hand
The lust of the spider would endure in the coffin
And the dead wasp would be eaten for its poison
Shall we dance to the sound of the wolves song 
While we make love to the awakening of the Count
It has been one hundred years since I have kissed your breast and eaten from your magnitude
Red rose of desire now dead may the curse be broken as the spiders hatch and crawl to your escape and devour you in your bed