| One day we, in ceremony
|
| Will throw away the ashes to the sea
|
| For now breathe, patiently
|
| The glow of something magic in your reach
|
| What have we built here?
|
| We, the troubled architects of this
|
| You loved it broken
|
| Who are you to mourn
|
| Who are you to mourn
|
| You spoke of roses
|
| All I feel are thorns
|
| All I feel, all I feel are thorns
|
| In my sweet side, in my sweet side
|
| Dried out leaves and enemies
|
| Pressed between the pages left to read
|
| Thick as thieves, carefully
|
| Stepping without breaking underneath
|
| What have we built here?
|
| We, the troubled architects of this
|
| You loved it broken
|
| Who are you to mourn
|
| Who are you to mourn
|
| You spoke of roses
|
| All I feel are thorns
|
| All I feel, all I feel are thorns
|
| In my sweet side, in my sweet side
|
| In my sweet side, in my sweet side
|
| You loved it broken
|
| Who are you to mourn
|
| Who are you to mourn
|
| You spoke of roses
|
| All I feel are thorns
|
| All I feel, all I feel are thorns
|
| In my sweet side, all I feel are thorns
|
| In my sweet side, all I feel are thorns
|
| In my sweet side, all I feel are thorns
|
| In my sweet side, all I feel are thorns
|
| In my sweet side, in my sweet side |