And memories as hoarse as black roses
The strangling sourness of fear and of pain
With the blinding aroma of choices
In a complete room surrounded alone
Grabbed by a glimmer of lights
Risking pleasurable stabbings at home
With the glamour cuts of the knife
Reciting the moves being bent like the stairs
Of having the unknown friends take ahold
The comforting beasts was intolerant of cares
If not for the devil, my soul they would've also sold
Comprehend things so to undertand
Reach for every desire
I still prefer to have black roses in hand
And my broken heart on fire
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