(So I was in a Printing-house in Hell, and
saw the method in which knowledge is
transmitted from generation to generation)
As it had been told...
And all of the words
Were being swept away
By the wind
Of stupidity,
It seems to me...
During your life's darkest way
You're going to be bewitched by pain
So strong so you'll have to eat your fear
Until you die and disappear.
By the way,
During your life's deepest road
You will have seen and heard a lot -
You're going to be bewitched by this.
You will have given, you'll have missed
All of the sweetest dreams of yours.
I wonder so what kind of whores
Do you belong to? I'll try to guess...
I've seen there's only chaos and mess...
That's why there's only sleepy fire
Of hunger, curses and desire
And nothing's done... Nobody's torn. -
Perhaps thou art bewitched whore...
Thou art bedevilled one!
The veil of evening does fall down...
With rustle it's approaching now
The hollow - hearted voice of time
Does make me sing to you a lullaby
There is no need to speak of the brothel in town...
One whore who used to be an archbishop mistress,
Got a daughter-in-sin, little one was called Selinda:
With the help of her priest she had left little one
Under the shelter of orphanage of St. John
She had died and begun looking for little one.
But she looked ghost alike... and it was real ghost!
SELINDA! SELINDA!
COME TO ME MY SWEET SELINDA!
COME TO MUMMY LITTLE GIRL!
Run away!
Light escapeth from the grave! -
Make me breathe again, my sentinel
Ghostly aim -
I should
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