Incantation

And in the monastery garden sat a woman with a book

A manuscript that lay within her frail and trembling arms

She looked around her nervously as guilt rose in her heart

But the sway of curiosity had drawn her out too far

She wavered on the threshold of a dangerous decision

For this dark tome was no for human eyes to ever read

The pages dripped with legions of persuasive words and visions

So the volume had been hidden well, but now it had been freed

For no apparent reason had the woman been drawn in

Perhaps it was a twist of fate, an absence of real thought

She wandered to a room that before she'd never been

And all at once the interest of her senses had been caught

For no apparent reason had the women been drawn in

Where rows of dusty books lay in an ominous display

And now she sat alone in the concealment of the night

She was hungry now to liberate the writings from their cage

The glimmer of a feeble moon provided her with light

As she opened up the cover and began to read the page

Fly, soul, the body's guest,

Upon your impish arrant

Let none be guiled by false confession

Truth shall be your warrant

Fly soul for your body must die

Fly soul for your body must die