When the silence from the garden arises

The structures around it stop

Contemplating the harmony of it's movement

The harmony that completes the art itself

I went to this land with thick tears

Being the bleeding from cold and rough stem

The bed that receives the carving rest, dying deads

Prepared with torso thorn

Chain the cry in the inner soul

On my strong and clear ceiling rough heart

I see curtains of rain that cover the stars

Ab imo pectore... Vox sanguinis

Covered with the dark robe, masquerade

Ad Astra per aspera

With the blowing of the cold wind at twilight

The clang of trees in the darkness of the abyss

Attracts us with the beauty of its being

Contemplate by the moonlight the Mende's goat image

As a black fountain of discharging wisdom

Clamitat ad coelom vox sanguinis et sodomorum

My flight be the fallen angel's wings

Over existent dead cities

Spread forgotten ruins ashes

From its towers, as one who cries from the interior

It's hatred put on an ascendant blazonry

And I arise from the skies

The voice of poured blood