CHRISTIANS

Blind, they storm up from the pit.

You gave them the force,

You, when You poured the measure of agony into them.

Did n't You know what it would be,

Giving blind people fire?

Not gold and red and amber fire,

But marsh fire.

Fire of ice,

Suffering forged into suffering!

They are coming up now.

The sword is uplifted in the hands of the monster.

My valiant little puppets,

Did you think you could stand out against this?

Pierrot and Columbine breeding in the flowers....

There must be no flowers.