I left the golden vale by the blackened lane;
Raw burns are immune to pain.
Quick to flame, burning bright,
This certificate for failure keeps me warm at night.

Roses bloom on dead men’s pride.
You can’t fail if you never tried.
Roses bloom on dead men’s pride.
I succeeded where dead men tried.

I see your bored eyes under their gaunt hood,
Fingers drumming on worn wood.
My fire burns the words you write;
I forge new turns and paths in the night.

Roses bloom on dead men’s pride.
You can’t fail if you never tried.
Roses bloom on dead men’s pride.
I succeeded where dead men tried.

Oases only thrive in seas of dead waste;
The bread’s better for the years of dread taste.
An angel’s face sheds the dead in light,
And the miracle’s hand guides me through the night.

Roses bloom on dead men’s pride.
You can’t fail if you never tried.
Roses bloom on dead men’s pride.
I succeeded where dead men tried.

I’m alive while proud men died.
I’m alive while proud men died.