On the mossy green grass here,
Where everything is laid to rest.
Where souls are transported from the soil,
And are lifted to better purpose.
Belladonna leads the essence of grey,
The tombstone matches its pale way.
The other bright flowers offer no solace,
What lays in the ground is still soulless.
Belladonna makes the bravest of hearts tremble,
For it is a reminder of a chipped family,
Which can no longer be assembled.
Belladonna flowers are still a curse,
Near my heart, and near a hearse.
I wish this flower upon no other,
For it brings with it the death of another.