Vainglorious Confession

I have music in my hot and precious blood

It rinses my veins from the dust of betrayal

It flows into the deep and deeper than my

Idea of anatomy will ever reach

To the impulsiveness and blessed urge

To the bottom of all the defects responsible

For my savagery and my animosity

For my vital catalyst that keeps me alive

Oh mother you’re like blood to me

Your son doesn’t believe in the evening prayer anymore

That’s what’s left now of your care and smile

Take a look at my hands – dirty chapped

My sins lie before me

Like a feathery carpet of the past

I tread on it barefoot

Not concealing my pleasure

I summon the enlightened ones

Let them cure

My disablement!