Pozdney nochjyu -

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.