O, you midnight surgeons!
With your blood-specked coats and worms for tongues,
you replace his heart, when he is young
with works of art and foolish words-
So he does not feel, he only knows
That all his teeth are truely keys
to women's hearts of sweet persuasion-
For when he bites down into her skin,
her passion escapes and stains his lips
and his cheeks are bleached two shades of white,
while one is pure, the other is fear-
O, foolish boy, what have you done?
They told you it was less than sin,
you who feels, how could you know?

O, you Midnight Seamstress!
With a gown threaded by the Hands of God
You sowed the sleaves that cover his arms,
and protect his heart from which he was warned
Could you not stop him from removing his clothes?
Or hide the steam that appears when he smiles?
O, blissful midnight shadow! The Sun rises on thee!
Agghh skeet, skeet, crit me, skeet, skeet!