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Lyrics: S. Manteuffel

My flowers spring forth
From a frozen ground
From roots made of anger
From beneath the scorched earth

The stipe is a spiked club
With leaves of razor blades
With blossoms of barbwire
And with petals made of broken glass

The scent of the blooms
Is fatal poison gas
And the farina seems
Like deadly hand grenades

Such are my flowers
My bouquet of roses
For every foe I know
For almost everyone I know