Capitolo 62
Standeth our anger, and he/she wants neither it feels neither it keeps in mind of;
The soul of its children is wolfish, been born by his,
And it doesn't soften from prayers.
CHOIR
I gave on my breast the hit
That Asian that he/she cries women knows;
Moans from my breast the to whine of fun'ral,
The Cissian that he/she cries melody;
Rendingly lengthened before, to rag and torn wound,
My narrow hands wander, here and there,
From head to face; disturbed with hits
Confusedly beats my eyebrows.
ELECTRA
Aweless in hate, his/her mother of Or, austerely the brave!
As in the grave of a foeman
You laid'st in earth a king, but to the bier
Any citizen drew nearby,--
Husband of Thy, thine, still for his/her obsequieses,
You the bad'st any moan rises!
ORESTES
Alas the ashamed burial you dosts speak!
Still me the revenge of its shame will discharge--
That ago the of the I command!
That will realize my hand!
Grant me to thrust away his/her life and me
Will dare to die!
CHOIR
List you the action! Cut down and dishonestly lacerated,
He to the grave bore;
Yea, from his/her hand the action that beaten,
With as shame to the grave you/he/she was brought,
And from his/her hand she strove him with strong desire,,
The life of Thy to crush, child of Or, from murder of sire of thy:
Thee of Bethink, feeling, of the shame the pain
Wherewith that sire has been killed!
ELECTRA
Yea, such it was the decree of my sire; well-a-day,
I was inclined from his/her side,--
As a dog from their room they thrust away me,
And in place of my laughter you of rose sobbing and torn
As in obscurity I placed.
Or it produces, if this word can pass to ears of thine,
To soul of thy allows him to arrive and bear!
CHOIR
Allow him to pass, allows him to perforate, through the sense of ear of thine,
To soul of thy, where in silence it the waiteth the time!
The past is brought defeasible; but thee of the alarm clock to feel
That that the future prepareth; he wakes up and couples,