Carmen
She stands proud
A blood-red rose
Adorns her
Scornful heart.
He rushes towards her
Sees that fervent adoration
In her defiant eyes but
Alas!
Not for him but
For that matador with his
Blood-red cape.
A passionate knife he wields
Jealousy guides his
Wrathful hand
To her heart,
His sole undoing.
Blood weeps into the sand
Red as the rose
That Carmen wears.
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