Capitolo 90
Lifting a hand of pure unsullied,
That man that anybody the decree of ours incurs in,
And thro walks' all of its deadly run
Intact from pain, unharmed from anger.
But if, as man that, him the hath
Blood on the hands he strives him to hide,
We sustain avengers to his/her side,
Decreeing, the hast of _Thou they offended the corpses:
We am the witnesses of decree to thee_.
Blood's price, its hands have shed,
Us tightened by him; in the life, in death,
Very hard to his/her side is us!
Night, night of Mother that a torment produced me
To men living and dead,
Feel me, Or feels! from the child of teen-ager of Leto
I am dishonoured:
Him hath ta'en from me him who crouches in shelter,
To me it did consecrate,--
A correct victim, him who killed his/her mother.
O'er determined to the fate and I.
Feels the hymn of hell,
O'er the victim to play,--
Liturgical song of frenzy, liturgical song of sick,
Sense and wants confusing!
You round off the soul to lace
Without you lute or lira--
It animates in the madness to languish,
Wasting as with fire!
Destinies, while all-pervading the Fate, this service rotated, while commanding
What I should attend therein:
Whosoe'er of mortals, done perverse and illegal,
It is stained with blood of log,
From his/her side it is us, and never the fighter before,
You cultivate to the Silent Earth,
Death's kingdom, him the cometh; anybody that
In liberty him the stand.
Feels the hymn of hell,
O'er the victim to play,--
Liturgical song of frenzy, liturgical song of sick,
Sense and wants confusing!
You round off the soul to lace
Without you lute or lira--
It animates in the madness to languish,
Wasting as with fire!
When from uterus at night we jumped, on us this works
It was staid and it will bear.
Of the immortal one it is ye, it sticks you beware him of ye they don't touch
What that is our pride!