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What is the tumult among the stars |
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That have shone so still till now? |
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What are the furrows of pain and wrath |
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Upon the immortal brow? |
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What is the beauty that flames so bright |
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Athwart the awful dawn? |
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She has taken flesh, she is come to judge |
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The thrones ye rule upon |
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Quail ye kings for an end is come |
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In the birth of Babalon |
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O popes and kings and the little gods |
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Are sick and sad and wan |
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To see the crismon star that bursts |
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Like blood upon the dawn |
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The gates shall fall and the irons break |
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In the birth of Babalon |
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Her mouth is red and her breasts are fair |
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And her loins are full of fire |
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And her lust is strong as a men is strong |
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In the heat of her desire |
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And her whoredom is holy as virtue is foul |
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Beneath the holy sky |
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And her kisses will wanton the world away |
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In passion that shall not die |
