Carnage holds your chest wounds, desperate to keep you alive despite it’s useless, to soothe your hunting mate you decide to sing him a song as you grow weaker…

“And when all the flowers are rotten and all the cannons shot I'll scream, but you won't hear, "Forget me not" And in years to come, you'll wander to the place up on our hill And then you'll cry to our painted sky, "I loved him then, I love him still!" And you'll strew some sage and lilies and roses where I rot Of all the flowers you picked, I knew you would forget Forget-me-nots…”

You continue weakly, trying to provide him comfort..