(So I was in a Printing-house in Hell, and

saw the method in which knowledge is

transmitted from generation to generation)



As it had been told...

And all of the words

Were being swept away

By the wind

Of stupidity,

It seems to me...



During your life's darkest way

You're going to be bewitched by pain

So strong so you'll have to eat your fear

Until you die and disappear.



By the way,

During your life's deepest road

You will have seen and heard a lot -

You're going to be bewitched by this.

You will have given, you'll have missed



All of the sweetest dreams of yours.

I wonder so what kind of whores

Do you belong to? I'll try to guess...

I've seen there's only chaos and mess...



That's why there's only sleepy fire

Of hunger, curses and desire

And nothing's done... Nobody's torn. -

Perhaps thou art bewitched whore...



Thou art bedevilled one!



The veil of evening does fall down...

With rustle it's approaching now

The hollow - hearted voice of time

Does make me sing to you a lullaby



There is no need to speak of the brothel in town...

One whore who used to be an archbishop mistress,

Got a daughter-in-sin, little one was called Selinda:

With the help of her priest she had left little one

Under the shelter of orphanage of St. John

She had died and begun looking for little one.

But she looked ghost alike... and it was real ghost!



SELINDA! SELINDA!



COME TO ME MY SWEET SELINDA!

COME TO MUMMY LITTLE GIRL!



Run away!

Light escapeth from the grave! -

Make me breathe again, my sentinel

Ghostly aim -

I should