Behold, the might of the waters, Tamed and banned to the cauldrons, Effervescent, yet in the depth: unquenchable lights To overexpose my wounds...
Hail to the caldrons! With power to reconstruct dreams extinct, In the fires of time... I speak of a potion, With power to resurrect the dead, Stay, my transient muse! Don't vanish with the dawn!
Oh radiant caldron, why must you shine so bright? I fear you froth a hidden truth. I picture you as the last beacon in the night, To prove to this rache that it has failed.
As the froth does clear I see a mirror And afraid of my own face, I retreat But less and less, I fear, seems worth it, To be practised in the absence of thy vital heat.