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Some black roses on the floor |
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And gliding petals on the river |
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Your tears are so cold |
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They're twisting streams on your pale skin |
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But once you had a red rose on your hands |
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And spread its seeds away while hoping they'd blossom red |
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Sound and safe from that tainted soul of yours |
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Because your soul is black you fear the sun, wind and rain |
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And would never let them to shine, blow or fall on your grave |
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So the red roses are black for you today |
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Some black roses on the floor |
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And drips of blood on your fingers |
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With every thorn you hurt so deep |
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While harvesting on your death field |
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With honesty justice and dignity you can't turn your roses red |
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Roses are black roses for you today |
