She needs the great dying,
Much blood, immense crying,
After battle, carnage, slaughter it's revealed,
These are to her the best of any field.
Blood-flower black,
Blood-flower red,
The finest growth,
Made by the dead.
Thrives amidst the worst of doom,
Nestles close from tomb to tomb,
Grows up, beautiful and keen,
Like there's no other flower to be seen.
Blood-flower black,
Blood-flower red,
The finest growth,
Made by the dead.
It blooms then glistening, fragrant luscious
Rises above each battle-field and remains perilous,
For who is by her sight constrict,
Will a moment later
By Death be picked.
