There’s nothing in the secret garden,
No hints of treasures lost,
It shares no hope for any pardon,
Just faded images we tossed.
Children do not come to play,
There are no myths to come true,
You can enter and stay,
But no one will stay with you.
The vines that grow inside
Are parasites you can see,
They exist to choke off life
Giving you grief so casually.
There is nothing in the secret garden,
And sin though you may,
Those sins will earn no pardon,
You have been led astray.
You can sleep inside its walls,
Painting your pictures of sadness,
And when darkness falls,
You will descend into madness.