The Tree Nymph chants with grace,
Mesmerizing  men by plenty, soon lost, displaced,
Her voice, charming songs of paradises and victories true;
Sounds like colors, various, like a thousand rainbows hues,
But deceptive songs heard only men whose hearts are empty,
And whose souls are petty, despite they toiled plenty.

For these men who seek women and The Nymph also seeks them:
Evil men full of blackness, foul and dread,
Who foolishly travel to the source of the enchantment,
Only to find themselves slain by this female *******.

No heart broken if nonexistant,
Persistent ignorance formed by constant negligence
Yet before dying comes a sweet caress
For slain are these foolish men, Nature is blessed!

From Her body only one guarantee,
Without sympathy, from the enemy
From her blood pure: Holy Vessels,
But only after a pain; unbearable

Her Body sometimes Tree, Her blood always a Holy Sap
Her wisdom an elixir which none can grasp,
She is wet and her branches grow children who will soon run with the wind
Not from the rain, but from the ***** of men who have heard her sing.

Forever shrouded, mysteriously clouded intent
Dreaming of men who wept, with whom they slept, only to met their death
However it is noted, The Tree Nymph sings true and pure,
For men who are evil, the only cure

A purge for those who sing as they hurt and curse
At Women: The Ocean of eternal birth.