What awaits in our dark gardens
a bed of black dying roses
growing wild and they're hiding
a place made of bones and stone
here lies you and all you are
all hopes and dreams are yet to come
they're buried in our dark gardens
the land of the dying sun
what awaits in our dark gardens
a pool of dark stagnant waters
tainted with the blood and sorrow
of our silent stoic martyrs
here lies you and all you are
all hopes and dreams are yet to come
they're buried in our dark gardens
the land of the dying sun
begging for a resurrection
of a sky raining fire
sacrifice this land stricken
with the fear of dying to the sound of dark gardens growing wild.
