Who dares invade my hallowed bounds?

It is Saint Cecilia's Bane
quavering and crotcheting
his Mammon-hymns in vain!

God's weighted ear
he cannot imitate:
spilled lilies strew the floor,
roses wither in the dry chalice
tucked away under his desk.

He said:
"I can't be your Daddy,"
to tell me my mind,
taking me aside to
chide me for my
freshly-ravished soul.

Cecilia, I consecrate that place and day to you!

Take pity and have mercy on me,
o Knower, in whom alone
is there no contradiction at all.

Thou, fruitless spirit
of justice and righteous anger,
art the light that conceals,
reveals and destroys.

I, thy shortened hand,
shall finish thy tryptich.

Take pity and have mercy on me,
o god, in whom alone
is there no contradiction at all.