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48 Roses

I’ve always been reckless and foolish with love
Always pushing my luck with the spirits above…
With four different lovers you don’t get much rest
I’ve gone and created a mess

She was the desire of every man, the one that would turn heads as she walked down the street.

Many pursued her, but three lay their claim to her heart. Each with a bouquet of roses they professed themselves to her.

A jealous ex-lover, scorned and manipulative, believed he would win her back. Two suiters had each plucked up enough courage to challenge him for her love.

They postured and danced, eager to try and impress the object of their desire. But try as they might, neither could win her heart.

For her heart had already been stolen.

A fourth bouquet of flowers took pride of place, sitting triumphantly in a vase while the other three dozen wilted, discarded.

Blinded by love, the three reckless and foolish suitors neglected to see that what they desired most would never be theirs.

With four different lovers and 48 roses
I need a confession, your love never closes
So please save some forgiveness for me
A man blinded by love can’t think clearly

She is the object of desire within Olympus. I can see the lust in your eyes as you present your bouquet of flowers to her, laying your claim to her heart.

The OSW World Championship.

Stubbins Doom, the jealous ex-lover. Manipulative, desperate to try and win her heart back. You may have been able to seal the fate of O’Death by locating that songsheet. You knew that the power of the song must be played out. Yet, you have not done nearly enough to win back the heart you let go of, perro.

Teddy O’Toole, the eccentric suitor. You try to charm your way to her heart with your silver tongue. But you have proven only that you cannot be trusted, and that when push comes to shove you will always fall just short where it matters. For when I kill a man, he stays dead.

Mi amigo, the unassuming best friend, the victim of a ballad played out on eternity’s strings. You were always part of the song, but never in control. Mi amigo, you’ve always just been along for the ride. It is I that played out your song.

All three, blinded by her beauty, cannot see that her heart has already been won.

With four different lovers and 48 roses
I’ve made up my mind.

Her destiny was sealed with a briefcase.

It is my bouquet of flowers that take pride of place while yours wilt. You forget that her heart has already been claimed and speak as if she’s yours for the taking. But she made her choice when my song was played.

For the tune that binds us, is not one of death but a lovesong.

My lovesong.

And I will continue to play it long after Ring of Dreams is over.

Her heart is mine, as the song is writ, so it must be.