The trees look like giant broccolis.

Or the twisted, deformed hand of something surely not human, mossy green magic spraying out, always playing with the sick demented sorcery it always obsessed with.

The roses look like fairies.

Or the sinister home to hurtful thorns, hidden beneath blankets of dark, dark red, already stained by innocent blood many times before, but still managing to lure the hopeless romantics.

And the sun!, oh the lovely sun, it looks like a golden orb!

Or, my friend, or the breath of a crazed dragon, always able to scorch the careless and unwary.