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Regarding the plains of the faithful and prude, a land that is soiled and misused |
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Enshrouded by alms in the seeking of truth, depleted and absent from use |
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Man seeks forgiveness for deeds all so idle, questing compassion from forces unknown |
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No one but man for its conducts is liable, in spite of the lies that are told |
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I pass you my dagger |
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I pass you my torch, renting a slit in my palm |
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I pass you my chalice lets fill it with blood, together with seeds of our love |
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Disrobed but in stockings you dance in the fires, seized by affections of lust |
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For progress and fortune ourselves we are liable, our godly potential we trust |
