The priestess sat on her golden chair
And inhaled the fumes of earth
She spoke the words that weren’t hers
And offered the chance of rebirth
The oracle slips into the state of dreams
Submitting to the trance
Stumbling through the mindless rapture
Like the ecstasy of dance
In a daze of wondrous disillusion
By her god-given gift
Her temple a haven of drug-fuelled euphoria
The retribution, swift
Condemning sinners and saints alike
She’ll give a seed and take a flower
Shrouded and hooded to conceal her faith
Driven mad by her power
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem