When the silence from the garden arises
The structures around it stop
Contemplating the harmony of it’s movement
The harmony that completes the art itself
I went to this land with thick tears
Being the bleeding from cold and rough stem

The bed that receives the carving rest, dying deads
Prepared with torso thorn
Chain the cry in the inner soul
On my strong and clear ceiling rough heart
I see curtains of rain that cover the stars

Ab imo pectore… Vox sanguinis
Covered with the dark robe, masquerade
Ad Astra per aspera
With the blowing of the cold wind at twilight

The clang of trees in the darkness of the abyss
Attracts us with the beauty of its being
Contemplate by the moonlight the Mende's goat image
As a black fountain of discharging wisdom

Clamitat ad coelom vox sanguinis et sodomorum
My flight be the fallen angel's wings
Over existent dead cities
Spread forgotten ruins ashes
From its towers, as one who cries from the interior
It's hatred put on an ascendant blazonry
And I arise from the skies
The voice of poured blood