“Et si nom minus nobis iucundi atque
Inlustres sunt ei dies quibus
Conservamur quam illi quibus nascimur,
Quod salutis certa laetitia est, nascendi
Incerta condicio et quod sine sensu
Nascimur, cum voluptate servamur…”
Weaving the wasted waters of the world,
I hear the music:
Ainulindale.
Nothing could be more than walking hand
In hand,
Lamenting the later lords.
The gull tears my heart,
But let it be said of me: “…”
And “thus he spoke to me!”
O sinners, let us go down,
Let us go down, come down,
Down, in the river to pray
O sinners, let us drown,
Let us drown, come down,
Where in the river we’ll stay
I despise the land that you so cherish,
And I abhor the earth beneath my feet