The dead forest speaks in volumes, her cries too weak to be heard
Among the ashes, burnt hearts and lives, a flower blooms and grows
Like the sound of children laughing amidst the crash of bombs in war
But if you listen hard enough, you'll hear her gentle voice whispering

'In the valley of the thorns your blood will often fall on petals dead by dusk
Following a white trail of stars against the dark of night, she sings to him
Of hearts bled dry of all their love, faded by the sunlight, washed of color'

Twilight finds her in a bed of roses, red as lips stained with sin, she bleeds
Fire eating her courage, as quickly as it turns the leaves to ash, she burns
Words whispered to the dying trees, blackened by flames, mostly unheard
Their meaning misunderstood but by the wind that unwillingly aids in her death

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