Now noisy are the forest cradles,

The sun is gone, the birds are silent,

The pale white moon has lit its candle.

The air is still, still night's not quiet.

Now make your bed and fluff your pillow,

O, Kyrie Eleison, dear!

I am not now to disappear:

My star shines everlast and clear.

And up your blanket fly the sparkles,

The demons, spirits, thoughts and dragons,

The jinnees picture visions quaint,

Bizzare and strange with movements faint.

But please believe: it's just a play,

They've not learned much things to this day,

They are still young. But what a trouble -

The world knows not about your struggles,

The night can't hear your bitter grief,

The angels, too, lost their relief

Upon the pain and awful dread.

The skies have pushed them off their bed

Into the outer, dreadful world

Where evil god digs grounds cold:

The miserable, dirty, putrid.

Don't follow him, for he is stupid.

Is he malicious? Maybe. Rather

He is as reckless as a buzzer.

Besides, by any chance, the doomsday,

Does not he judgmentally depict?

But Kyrie Eleison! Ripped

Will not your soul be by his fray.

Take care of it; your body, too.

Fear not the grief, rage's bad for you.

Fear not the demons, fear the god,

You see, he's just a little odd.