A hooded figure makes his way among the cenotaphs of a great city
And as I stand honouring the dead he passes near
I hear him whisper, a violent exhalation
And grasping my collar he collapses
"I give you my last words, draw near," he gasps for breath
"I am Azazel, now mortal," and spitting gnashed his teeth
Speech of a madman I think. I will give this wretch his parting company
"You think I am mad. But no more than you who stand before a corpse
You defile a flower to honour the worms and yet think me mad," choking with mirth says he
I bite my tongue, for he will soon join the worms by the look of him
"Very good. You are not the fool you appear to be
Now listen fine fellow I give you a gift"
From his filthy pocket he passes me a tattered cloth, his hands shaking.
"Take this and read. It contains a great mystery revealed to me by our father"
"Man there is nothing written on it" I cry
Laughing and spitting, gnashing his teeth into the ground he breathed his last
And leaning back against a tombstone shiver
But upon glancing at my hand I leap to run
And fancy hear the madman at my back
Behind me drop the tattered cloth
Whose filth-stained threads now bear the words:
"the perversion of sin is the secret of salvation"
And as I stand honouring the dead he passes near
I hear him whisper, a violent exhalation
And grasping my collar he collapses
"I give you my last words, draw near," he gasps for breath
"I am Azazel, now mortal," and spitting gnashed his teeth
Speech of a madman I think. I will give this wretch his parting company
"You think I am mad. But no more than you who stand before a corpse
You defile a flower to honour the worms and yet think me mad," choking with mirth says he
I bite my tongue, for he will soon join the worms by the look of him
"Very good. You are not the fool you appear to be
Now listen fine fellow I give you a gift"
From his filthy pocket he passes me a tattered cloth, his hands shaking.
"Take this and read. It contains a great mystery revealed to me by our father"
"Man there is nothing written on it" I cry
Laughing and spitting, gnashing his teeth into the ground he breathed his last
And leaning back against a tombstone shiver
But upon glancing at my hand I leap to run
And fancy hear the madman at my back
Behind me drop the tattered cloth
Whose filth-stained threads now bear the words:
"the perversion of sin is the secret of salvation"
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