Black rose of Siberia, her fingers motionless Razor thorns and trembling leaves Grown on vanity and love turned rogue Sprung in may, hung by winter Weeded out and left to rot
At the center of attention, high up in this tower From my death bed, I sink into my desolate grave
Sprung in may, hung by winter Weeded out and left to rot
When your heart becomes the carrier You will be the last to know
Let heaven hear, I have become what I've stared at for so long I've become the storm
