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On the head of the goat

is a tidingsing sign

Calling up the power of

the obscure candles

Circle of stones

stays here for hundreds

Silhouettes of the grey figures

Swords in their grips

Wind in branches of the tree

Mysterious rocks are illuminated

by the Moonlight

Temptation of the dark night

calls up might full of mystery

Stream of light is raving about

a rite without witnesses

The wish without order

To the highest feeling of emotions

Fully, hows written

in the bequest of ancestors

RITUAL… (by the truth)

They’re drinking from a goblet

impiously free

From a cup filled with

a faithful to themselves