Give me a cup, O elder of the tavern

Do not say tomorrow, for in delay there are calamities

Give me the blood of Pharaoh instead of wine

For the Moses of my soul has come to the appointed place

Our wine is from the blood of the enemy

For lions find pleasure in hunting

How bloody are the lion's snout and paws

These signs are taken from our blood

I do not take the grave, nor the blood of grapes

For I am intoxicated by negation, not by affirmation

When I return to the hunt, I become alive

I do not circle around the dead like ravens

Come, O raven, and become a falcon by aspiration

Become purified from ravenhood before the purified one

Scatter the descriptions of the falcon as well

Become more detached within yourself like the essence

This earth is not dust, it is a basin full of blood

From the blood of lovers and the wounds of the king's men

O rooster, how long will you say morning has come?

The light of the niche itself shows the morning