I, as your poet,

In faithful arms of wide

Surprise,
Will walk beneath the clouds

Behind the gates of Sin and Flesh,

guarded near a path

Calling to each and every one

An opening of this soil—

Broken only by a virtue

May, you my reader See,
Once through the Devil’s charm

In the soul thus torn apart—

And not by means of Flesh,

but rather by the Truth

That sleeps in covers blind

A veil—

Of lies that only you will find.