The impure visitations, the dwellers of an impure land. They die and turn to dust yet leaving nothing behind. So get her here to me. Bring me my princess, so that I can inebriate (myself) from her wine so that I can drink her dry... I lay her sleeping body under six sacred feet so that she can nourish the soil in place where roses grow. But the roses still have thorns, sharp and poisonous, poisening me with conscience saving only need for peace. This pain leads nowhere in this life, but I don't want to die though that would be right. Still I want some more... I want them all! Visitations of faceless creatures stire me within impurity. As they die and turn to dust they leave the ground poor. The roses will have their scarlet only from my mistresses below.