A bush of red rossess,
one turned slowly black.
As the pain becomes unbearable,
the happiness never coming back.
The tears I've wasted,
the blood I shed.
The pain I've tasted,
my soul now dead.
The hatred I've fealt,
the lonliness clear.
The misery surrounding,
through every tear.
A bush on fire,
all but on dead.
Slowly turned black,
as the image in my head.
The darkness I hide in,
the things which I say.
Here on my bed,
where I solemly lay.
This is who I am,
from being stabbed in the back.
A once beautiful red rose,
a rose slowly turned black.