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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.