And little Catrala has thrown her tears
For grandma’s illness
Is against (her) huge caprice,
Avoiding the firceness
Of what a tiny girl feels

Outside stars are hiding their lights
Unfolding a dreadful darkness
Upon march of monks started
Missing a young and chaste princess
The empress of Night

Catalina has got the permission she needed
Her desires are torrents
Of madness concealed
That let pageant look at
The lights of shadows, thrilled.

The stars have reignited
In hands of the march
And an ebony Jesus walks bleeding
Our sinful pride,
Hiding his Sodom before Procession of Blood

“Ground turns red as blood take possession of
What a so called Holy Ghost (is) supposed to
Clean with pain, lighting with its soft pleasure a
Growing unknown hidden in deepest core of our
Childish empress”

Images are fluttering
In a vortex of chaos
Stealing sleep away from the child’s nest
Ideas run through pathway
Leading to evilness pagedom…

The girl can feel every drop of blood
She sees it flowing
Through a self induced wound
Until she needs (to) turn this dream
Into a reality indeed

Silence is flirting with shadows noises
Letting Catrala’s footsteps
To be their black roses
Leading her to the hope of the whip
With its easing sadness
The chapel is opened
For its miniature priestess
Now she discovers her immaculate skin
To altar’s whisper
As the long wait reaches its end

“At last body and essence are consumed (in) red
Flames… Hands get skilled with every beat of
Self passion, turning whistles of whiplash into
A little girl Redemption melodies to her Wild Nature..”