Thorn کے بول

They grow the roses all the same I twist and bleed a crooked shade They cut me down before I wake I'm the thorn, I'm the thorn This garden is fake, I'm the storm Run where the wild vines entwine Burn the rows they made so tight In the dark soil, I come alive They grow the roses all the same I twist and bleed a crooked shade They cut me down before I wake I'm the thorn, I'm the thorn This garden is fake, I'm the storm Run where the wild vines entwine Burn the rows they made so tight In the dark soil, I come alive Now I'm free, Now I own This garden breaks when I decide