Upon the highest mountain top,
The Crimson Rose stands taut,
A sight that makes hearts stop.
A flaming torch under the sun,
A ruby in a moonlit night,
To feel its petals we run,
Climbing and crawling with all our might.
Alas it is not an object to possess,
It is the blessing we pray to get,
The friend we yearn for in distress,
The true love that has not struck yet.
For the fallen soul, it is the helping hand,
The ray of hope when darkness grows.
Upon the mountain in a forgotten land,
Stands taut the Crimson Rose.
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