Your thorns are piercing blood, your stems are strong with sharp spines, your flowers are beautiful like an angel.
Beautiful and beautiful roses, each of your petals is the hope for a wandering pit and also the hope for tomorrow, that the storm will surely pass.
Beautiful roses, some red, white, yellow, pink, various colors, add beauty to the sharp point of the thorn you have.
I want to be like you roses who can protect themselves and be beautiful, so that no one will hurt me, so that no one will play with me.
Beautiful roses, I whisper a dusk for you to plant, so that the poetry I write is miserable, wanting you to know that I will always be your place of return.
Your fragrance reminds me, of someone who has turned to ashes, someone who is rusty in my heart ...
I held the rose until the red heart crumbled, until the feeling of stabbing lies and leaving memories for you to keep.
Sometimes the heart is tired to cry, screaming until the sound is gone, crying until the tears are dry and only leaves tired.
I will not forget for every red rose that you give, because at the end my loyalty says, in each of my petals my prayer is anchored for you.
Now everything is black and you are gone from black eye to see, only a single rose of black can I give, when dusk anchored where we are.
