Translated by A. Z. Foreman - Sepulcher lyrics

If, on a night of laden black, Some Christian, out of charity, Buries your vaunted corpse out back Behind where some shack used to be, When the chaste stars begin to let Their laden eyelids down for dawn, The spider there will weave his net And there the viper nest his spawn And over your damned head you'll hear Throughout the stint of every year The piteous wails of wolves, the screams Of witches starved beyond your ken, Frolics of lecherous old men And black pickpockets' cackling schemes.