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1. Prologue


2. The Weighty Burden Of An Eternal Secret

Over there in a grove surrounded by flowers slumbers the Hermaphrodite, sound asleep upon sward, drenched with his tears.

The moon's disc is clear of the cloud mass and with pale beams she caresses this smooth youthful form.

His features manifest the most manly vigour coeval with a heavenly virgin's grace.

Nothing in him appears natural, not even the muscle of his body, which force their way across the harmonious contours of feminine forms.

One arm curves over his forehead, the other hand rests against his breast as if to repress the beat of a heart closed to all confidences, and fraught with The Weighty Burden of an Eternal Secret.

Weary of life and ashamed to walk among beings who do not resemble him, despair has won his soul and he wanders alone like a beggar in the alley.

How does he find the wherewithal to exist?

Compassionate souls watch over him closely, without his suspecting such surveillance, and do not abandon him: he is so good... so resigned.

Sometimes he talks readily to those of sensitive disposition, without touching their hands, and standing his distance for fear of an imagined danger.

If asked why he has taken solitude for companion, he raises his eyes heavenward and has difficulty holding back a tear of reproach against providence, but he does not answer this imprudent question, which sheds upon his snowy eyelids the blush of a morning rose

3. Along The Road That Leads To Bedlam

One day four masked men, upon orders received,
Threw themselves upon him and bound him hand and foot,
So that he could only move his legs.

The Whip's harsh lash slashed at his back,
And they told him to be on his way without delay.
- along the road that leads to Bedlam.

He began to smile while scourged and spoke to them with such feelings,
Such intelligence concerning so many human sciences he had studied
- displaying vast erudition for one who had not yet crossed the threshold of youth.

And his discourse on Humanity's Destiny,
During which he laid absolutely bare the poetic nobility of his soul,
Made his captors – shaken to the core by what they had done – unbind his battered limbs
And fall on their knees begging forgiveness.

His excessive Modesty, which dawned on him because of this idea of being but a monster,
Prevents his bestowing his glowing compassion upon any man.

He shelters behind his self-respect, offended by this blasphemous assumption
Which arises solely from himself and persists in remaining alone
And without solace in the midst of torments. His pride repeats to him this axiom:
"Let each keep to his own kind."

4. These Tresses Are Sacred

Through the branches of the trees the awakened birds gaze rapturously on his melancholy visage.
The nightingale is unwilling to utter its cavatinas of crystal.
The wood has become as August as a grave because of his nocturnal presence.
Stands several paces back, and thus you will do well.
These Tresses Are Sacred: The Hermaphrodite himself wished it.

5. May His Illusion Last Until Dawn's Awakening

He does not want human lips piously kissing Hair Scented by the mountain breeze,
nor his brow, aglow now like the stars of the firmament.

But it is better to believe that while traversing Space
a star itself has descended out of orbit on this majestic brow,
and encircles it with a diamond's brilliance as a Halo.

Night, waving sadness aside, adorns herself in all her charms
to celebrate the sleep of this incarnation of modesty,
this perfect image of angelic innocence.

The branches bend their lofty tufts over him
to protect him from the dew, and the wind...
twanging its tuneful harp sends blithe strains across the universal silence
towards those lowered eyelids which,
motionless, seem to witness the cadenced concert of suspended worlds.

He dreams he is contented, that his corporeal nature has changed;
or at least that he has flown off upon a purple cloud to another sphere
peopled by beings of the same kind as himself.

May his illusion last until Dawn's Awakening!

He dreams the flowers dance round him in a ring like immense demented garlands,
and impregnate him with their balmy perfumes while he sings a hymn of love,
locked in the arms of a magically beautiful human being.

But it is merely twilight mist he embraces,
and when he wakes their arms will no longer be entwined.
Awaken not, hermaphrodite.

Do not open your eyes, I beg you, do not open your eyes.
Sleep forever. Sleep forever.

6. Chimerical Hope

Awaken not, Hermaphrodite.
Do not wake yet, I beg you.
Why will you not believe me?
Sleep... Sleep forever. Sleep forever.

May your breast heave while pursuing the chimerical hope of happiness - That I allow you;
But do not open your eyes. Do not open your eyes!

I want to leave you thus, not to witness your awakening.

Perhaps one day, with the aid of a voluminous tome
and in moving pages I shall recount your tale,
shocked by its content and the lessons it brings forth.

So far, I've been unable to, for each time I try,
copious tears fall upon the paper and my fingers tremble,
and my body trembles, and my spirit weeps - and not through old age.

The secrets he bears within his evenhandedly joys and melancholic heart
is treasured by the cosmic spirit like the Center of Adonai itself.

Too perfect to exist among men, so fragile and full of love.
I am indignant at being unable to hold my nerve and swooning like a little girl
whenever I consider your deep misery.

I shall not fail to pray heaven daily for you
(Were it for myself, I would not pray at all)
I shall not fail to prey heaven daily for you
(and may peace be in your spirit)
I shall not fail to pray Heaven daily for you

7. Do Not Open Your Eyes

Do not open your eyes

Thanks to wurzel.bert15 for sending these lyrics.

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