To bring this thread around to something musical, here is a song by Joni Mitchell, provided here for non-commercial, educational purposes.

ROSES BLUE
© 1968 & 1974 Siquomb Publishing Corp.
By Joni Mitchell

I think of tears, I think of rain on shingles;
I think of rain, I think of roses blue.
I think of Rose, My heart begins to tremble,
To see the place she's lately gotten to,
Gotten to.

She's gotten to mysterious devotions,
She's gotten to the zodiac and zen,
She's gotten into tarot cards and potions,
She's laying her religion on her friends,
On her friends.

Friends who come to ask her for their future,
Friends who come to find they can't be friends,
Because of signs and seasons that don't suit her,
She'll prophesy your death, she won't say when,
Won't say when.

When all the black cards come you cannot barter,
When all your stars are stacked you cannot win,
She'll shake her head and treat you like a martyr,
It is her blackest spell she puts you in,
Puts you in.

In sorrow she can lure you where she wants you,
Inside your own self pity there you swim,
In sinking down to drown her voice still haunts you,
And only with your laughter can you win,
Can you win.

You think of tears, I think of rain on shingles,
I think of rain, I think of Roses blue,
I think of Rose, my heart begins to tremble,
To see the place she's lately gotten to,
Gotten to.