| The scent grows richer; |
| he knows he must be near
|
| He finds a long passageway lit by chandelier
|
| Each step he takes, the perfumes change
|
| From familiar fragrance to flavours strange
|
| A magnificent chamber meets his eye
|
| Inside, a long rose-water pool is shrouded by fine mist
|
| Stepping in the moist silence
|
| With a warm breeze he’s gently kissed
|
| Thinking he is quite alone
|
| He enters the room as if it were his own
|
| But ripples on the sweet pink water reveal some company unthought of
|
| Rael stands astonished doubting his sight
|
| Struck by beauty, gripped in fright
|
| Three vermilion snakes of female face
|
| The smallest motion, filled with grace
|
| Muted melodies fill the echoing hall
|
| But there is no sign of warning in the siren’s call
|
| «Rael, welcome! |
| We are the Lamia of the pool
|
| We have been waiting for our waters to bring you cool»
|
| Putting fear beside him
|
| He trusts in beauty blind
|
| He slips into the nectar
|
| Leaving his shredded clothes behind
|
| With their tongues, they test-taste and judge
|
| All that is mine
|
| They move in a series of caresses that glide up and down my spine
|
| As they nibble the fruit of my flesh
|
| I feel no pain
|
| Only a magic that a name would stain
|
| With the first drop of my blood in their veins
|
| Their faces are convulsed in mortal pains
|
| The fairest cries, «We all have loved you, Rael»
|
| Each empty snake-like body floats
|
| Silent sorrow in empty boats
|
| A sickly sourness fills the room
|
| The bitter harvest of a dying bloom
|
| Looking for motion I know I will not find
|
| I stroke the curls now turning pale in which I’d lain entwined
|
| Oh lamia, your flesh that remains I will take as my food
|
| It is the scent of garlic that lingers on my chocolate fingers
|
| Looking behind me
|
| The water turns icy-blue
|
| The lights are dimmed and once again the stage is set for you |