Letras:
Wounded The Your Roses Will Burn

with sunrise consumers, Destroyers of beautiful dreams. A rose selling class,.. banishes, Breed fear amongst the frail. Burning,.. the flames will burn your

the life that never was And here we stand In old England's land The rose is choked by it's thorn She will cast salt For your wound Old England wears

is no matter what your flow is no matter who's the dopest without Christ you're hopeless I shake dust from opposers get your open like roses burning

my soul Thy my kingdom has risen with pride Cold scars and blackened rivers The red sea echoes your name You have sealed your wounds The flowers

Sepulchral Sky Summoning Hell with the blink of an eye Cast into bondage a Devil will drive The Spirit of Evil Eternally thrives 13 incisions with plague burning

timers were even wound, a scolding they'd earn, and so we soon learned: to save a city, you burn it down. And that's what they said as they burned their

you feeling? Oh, I ask the rose with its petals of blood But the rose of blood can't answer me till the end Scream without raising your voice hold your

IN OUR GARDEN OF DELIGHT THERE IS NO FORGIVENESS! NO MERCY, PITY OR LOVE - YOUR HERO SHE WILL BURN! TIME FLIES AMONG THE ROSES INFECTED BY THE WORM!

you feeling? Oh, I ask the rose with its petals of blood But the rose of blood can't answer me till the end Scream without raising your voice hold your