At the whims of Seventh Death, I still assure what was her health,
What is health and what is left? In the end she was of Death,
Still I assure what was her lust—her hunger—after Death,
That her tastes have changed—little innocence maintained,


Still peculiar of her tastes, yet with little innocence maintained,
She had sought her tastes, yet ask if she could taste,
Strange as it may, her state as we could say,
Not the mindless, like the rest, but the craving still remained,


Now I simply ask you, as her days have already passed,
Give her what she needs, for she had kindly asked,
As the hearts have bled in heaven, please, will you be so kind?
Give her what she wants, for unfortunate she was.