And in the monastery garden sat a woman with a book A manuscript that lay within her frail and trembling arms She looked around her nervously as guilt rose in her heart But the sway of curiosity had drawn her out too far
She wavered on the threshold of a dangerous decision For this dark tome was no for human eyes to ever read The pages dripped with legions of persuasive words and visions So the volume had been hidden well, but now it had been freed
For no apparent reason had the woman been drawn in Perhaps it was a twist of fate, an absence of real thought She wandered to a room that before she'd never been And all at once the interest of her senses had been caught For no apparent reason had the women been drawn in Where rows of dusty books lay in an ominous display
But one ancient leather binding had the grain of human skin And seized with curiosity she stole this book away
And now she sat alone in the concealment of the night She was hungry now to liberate the writings from their cage The glimmer of a feeble moon provided her with light As she opened up the cover and began to read the page Fly, soul, the body's guest, Upon your impish arrant Let none be guiled by false confession Truth shall be your warrant Fly soul for your body must die