As I dwell in the burrow rotting, dying, and suffering but deep within, there’s a rope reaching the hollow.
Reach forth into pain and agony—perhaps you are the remedy.
I’d be in 16th century forgetting thee like we are etched in latin poetry.

I would perform sorcery just to have a glimpse of you and me
Neither spells nor poetry are enough to prove but rather Salem’s trial will be your testimony: you've bewitched me.

None may hear thy hymn, yet it echoes deep within.
Chant of the weak, unheard and grim Hear thy alluring rhythm — accept one’s altruism.

Millions of lifetimes, I’d rather be back in a period of millennia—clandestine affairs under the moonlight of Lupercalia.
If all be thy Judas, I shall be thy Saint Longinus.
Divine will, pure and ill—chant thy prayer, and hear my will.
Every church you desecrate, I hinder none, and wander forth to witness me hanged and desolate.