On the ruins of Babylon
They howl an old vengeance
As pride and valor;
After having marched
Over a Euphrates of blood
To reside in a den in the Hanging Gardens
Than a nest in a heart.
At the onslaught of darkness,
Among the groves,
Wolves are visiting graves of jackals
For grapes of booty
That may remedy their disease of lust.
Hence, they wish to build another pile
For a heinous greed to vomit a laughter upon,
After they both had barked
At a moon who herladed
The red blast of a silvery dawn.
