[bad word] magic power of aerial music,
Entrancing skies and birds and stones,
I hear the [bad word] tears of martyr
Mourning his love all gone to [bad word] 

I also hear the shrieks of thousand wild voices,
The coarse fingers rip apart your adolescent flesh,
The chaste blood drops with the sound of purest peal,
And ground and beasts and trees gasp at the sorrow they feel.

Oh beauteous Orpheus, repose,
Your heart’s still beating in the nature’s symphony,
Forevermore trying to arouse,
Your passion’s still living in sublime harmony.

The powers of the underworld, begone,
All left subdued by perpetual godlike sound.
The storms fade away and venoms stay benign,
Alive or dead – obedient like a lamb.

Oh beauteous Orpheus, repose,
Your heart’s still beating in the nature’s symphony,
Forevermore trying to arouse,
Your passion’s still living in sublime harmony.