She wears red.

There's not a way out

the path's showing itself.

Let's try to hide,

behind a curtain of smoke,

between your wrists I feel

the warmth of a stroke.

Come ride with me

we'll lean towards the end,

we'll meet the woman in red.

And you'll have to run no more,

for the ages have passed

and the light can no longer hit you.

With her clouded eyes,

with her purple smell,

can't you see that she wears red?