Right Through The Middle of a Death Parade, a Monk Sees a Corpse.

Sleep in peace, Madonna eh, 

The sombre world is in a time wrap. 

Silent and calm Westerlies blow

Ruffle up the sea

Stones clatter, jump on pointless coordinates

Of space and time (deceit?) 

Treachery craves to shroud the chalice. 

Madonna, for whom craves the monk-

Blades of grass nick 

The valiant, and - Madonna, Madonna oh, it

Has drawn me into the empty grayness of the Nirvana.