An unorthodox translation by Lake.
You sods, errors, pissers, and lesions
Occupy our souls and travel through our corpses.
As our ailment are to our amiable re-death,
the cum of menders nourishes their vermin.
Our peach’s son, the fetus, we repent as son of leeches;
We in our phases pay grass-cement for our view
And we rend the gayness along the roads to barbarism.
Credit for a devil’s raining lavatories are our torches,
On the oilier of the evils that are sat upon by Three-reigns
Who barks longingly at our spirit’s enchantment
And the rich metal of our own violence
Is all vaporised by that savage chimney
It’s the devil who taints the girls among our remains;
Axes, objects repugnant to our troves of bees,
Chuck days against our infernal descendants passed,
Without horror, but traversing the tame beast they pounded
From our cervical malignancy comes millions helmeted,
Grilling chants and repostes on people as demons
And great in our respirations, death in our apples
Sickly engrossed, cum on flowers, with sordid plaints.
Such is the way – poison, poignant and burning –
Our own parts in cores bred by their pleasing designs
The cadaver banal before our pitious destinies
This is our love, for hell!-No ashes hardening.
Mighty perms like charcoal, like panthers’ lice
They, singe less scorpions, less vultures, less serpents,
The monsters galloping, sands hurled groaning in rampage
In the menagerie infamous for our vices.
This one is much laid, much menacing, much unworldly.
Quick are his fascistic and great gestures near great cries.
He, ferocious, voluntarily deals the earth’s debris
Towards a baleful and avaricious world
It’s ennui! The oil charging the rain’s involutions.
It raves of echoed feuds that fume for their hooker.
You who know, lecture the monster’s delicacy.
Hyopocrite lecher in my likeness, you are my friend!