Her Heart, Was That Of A Dying Rose
Sorrows So Deep, Wither Her Away
It’s Known When A Angel Is Crying
Heavens Clouds Begin To Turn Gray.

Her Heart, Was That Of A Dying Bird
She Cannot Fly, Nor Could She Sing
The Sky, She Has Once Called Home
Will Never Be Flown Through Again.
Her Heart, Was That Of A Dying Tree
It Is Her Branches, Leaves Fall From
A Heart Will Grow Cold And Lonely
When The Heart Is Loved By No One.
Her Heart, Her Loving Tender Heart
Was That Of Nature’s Dying Beauty
The Heart Grows Weak Deep Inside
When Love, Is Absent From Our Life.