Black rose amongst scarlet poppies,
I'm not growing, the sun is ripping me out,
lost my dreams, destroyed my trophies
in the loneliest fields of shame and fault.

Black is my heart and black is my mind, 
the poppies just hide in the pure light, 
they're all sinners, so desperate to find
the end of the eternal ethereal fight. 

Black thoughts and carmine desire, 
tortured flesh yearns for senseless touch, 
my head filled with ashes, my body with fire, 
but thinking of feelings can never do much.

Oh black bird, come to me at clear night, 
your wings of wisdom are my antidote. 
My life is just a wait for your magestic flight, 
and this life is poison, 
but it keeps my corpse afloat...