Great Hollow She Home, the peacefully there's Mystery.
Dearly she labours.
Blood running, on to the summer flowers
WAIT till I come,

Left her, following low singing --
bare of everything

Let us go!
Go to the Devil!

Scorching heat and burning --
hang her by the neck

Thy trees mourned. She a Hollow labours....
Ah who was I that hidden from truly -----

Thy the end

Erected so obscure away.