Consecrate the ceremony. Or bear the oblation. See you this maiden whore. With whom you wish to copulate. You see her beauty - I see the skull beneath the skin. I smell the fragrant dusk of graves and the yellowed linen. "Calamity of fate!" - the portents cry. She longs to join the earth. Until all is but an elysian field (beset with glistening urns). A desolate, echoing cinerarium rattled by the winter wind. Merciless, I raise the cup. I beseech it be filled. I am the celebrant in this rite of shrouds. We abscond to ashes and dust occludes us all.