There's no flower like the poppy
that they sentence it to death
for keeping it spread around
three pairs of little black eyes
and I had to give myself up
I'll place it myself, even if I die
that I haven't killed anybody
the torments of my dark sorrows
I wouldn't wish them even on my enemies
I was dreaming of clove and cinnamon
they woke me up to punish me
with how much I loved her
she goes without turning her face
with how much I loved her
she goes without turning her face
it's cut by poor and rich
and everyone ends up crying
just like little kids
the torments of my dark sorrows
I wouldn't wish them even on my enemies
I was dreaming of clove and cinnamon
they woke me up to punish me
with how much I loved her
she goes without turning her face
with how much I loved her
she goes without turning her face