Roses bloom...
But they also die.
It'll be morning soon,
Another day full of lies.

Roses are expensive,
Just like pure gold.
The world around you fills up your senses,
each passing minute, getting old.

Roses are easy to burn,
like all beautiful things.
And yet, people never learn,
how much love could bring.

The Roses are dead,
and nothing is left.
The nations have bled,
Not hearing one another, believing to be deaf.