Late at night, bovine blood I will pour at the ploughed field. As the finger bends - and henbane leaf, Mouse tail will flinch, an owl cry With the wind is carried away, Through the field, through the fences - To every yard. Through the windows, following the sun, Through the chimney - into every house. ::: Late at night, bovine blood I will pour at the ploughed field. As I utter the word sacral, The word occult, the word forbidden - I'll rush through the village as a plague, Let the young and the old die - to my honour.