I tak sie wlasnie konczy swiat nie hukiem, ni skomleniem lecz szumem belkotu slepcow zapomnialych swego upadku
Oto krew swiata, strumienie Ichor Strugi cieplej sliny na pyskach Hylikos
Oto istota kielicha z Mateusza Ksztalty bez formy, cienie bez barwy Slowa bez znaczen, mozlwiosci bez celu Promieniejace zycie
And that is how the world ends Not with clatter, nor with whining But with the murmurous stammering of the blind Forgetful of their own fall
This is the blood of the world, streams of ichor Brooks of the warm saliva on the mouths of hylikos
This is the substance of the chalice of Mathew Shapes without form, shadows without colour Words without meaning, potentiality without purpose Radiating life