In the mute cave of vertical whited,
with strange striations arbitrary scratched,
Two tenderly hands with belt of nails
catches the salt curtain, and climbs
Scraped is the forehead which wear the wreath,
and pallid are the cheeks which tearfulness hangs up
She's running of rude, and she's running with fear
of a no fault she has...poor little creature
Uselessly the secret love calls her to temper...
she has no escape now and notever
When the hypnotic bed under the demonic abyssal
ask her for bride...of funeral
As a divine guard, the mountain protects her
just of the worldly mooncalf, endless,
The blue-black shadows hidden in water
push her towards the wedding of horor
On the bed that water has digged the salt,
she throws the bouquet and a last of a sob
Helpness loves, forbidden by meanness,
thrown ones and lost together in vrille
The black magic mirror crashes in tears,
and what should be floating...is gone...
for good, the powerfull abyss greedy expect
and takes the prey... to bear it in depth
Time passed by...the legend remained
Melted the mountain...palace for the bride
