The ancient stones of cities past,

Lie scattered all about.

The holy runes, once so great

are only now in doubt.

I look to find myself in this

But all I find is sin.

I feel, I see the echoes here

of life-my origin.


Les Fleurs du Mal call me on

In soft incessant dreams;

They weep, they cry, they sign, they die –

And me I hear their screams.

The Goddess Leona’s here

Upon the sun bleached walls,

I watch the runes upon her tomb

And softly hear her call.


O, Reader, save yourself from this

Before my tale you hear,

Else stand a hypnotised man

As Leona slowly appears

You, Reader: yes my brother,

You’ll be her victim too.

You’re nothing but a hypocrite

So pay her what she’s due!