Roman Rain

Thru magic power of aerial music,
Entrancing skies and birds and stones,
I hear the cruel tears of martyr
Mourning his love all gone to kingdom come.
I also hear the shrieks of thousand wild voices,
The coarse fingers rip apart your adolescent flesh,
The chaste blood drops with the sound of purest peal,
And ground and beasts and trees gasp at the sorrow they feel.
Oh beauteous Orpheus, repose,
Your heart’s still beating in the nature’s symphony,
Forevermore trying to arouse,