Each night it arrives from the empty horizon Weary as time it sleeps in my well It colours the walls and sighs like an old song Then dies in its slumber at the sound of the bell
Its fangs prey for blood on the flesh of the ocean Then dies in my water and poisons my crop It rushes inside me with each cup of wine It grows from my heart and leaves before dawn
With an ebony half moon and the breath of an old well With the dagger’s memory and the atrocity of kisses With the compass of faith and the map of the stars I greet the advent of the serpent’s ordeal
Its fangs prey for blood on the flesh of the ocean Then dies in my water and poisons my crop It colours the walls and sighs like an old song Then dies in its slumber at the sound of the bell
With a cabeirian prayer and a Sibylic riddle of doom With the persistent words of echoing ruins Out of my catacomb labyrinth of orgiastic cold I greet the advent of the serpent’s ordeal