Red rose, red rose
As pure as love it self,
White roses as the light of
Your sweet kisses.

I felt once the window
Of you heart open
Oh, I remember that day,
Like it was yesterday?

No more tears, and
No more dreams,
Just a poor illusion,
It feels like the bitter taste of wormwood.

So this been told
Of what could have or should of
A strikingly sad, pathetic
Letter of sorry!