I swarm deserted away, like glass...
Warm, and as fevers,
I am as flame.
I am death...
For I, I weave our blasphemies...

Wicthes painted me,
Like the mysteries created me...
Like where the poets breathe,
I were woven into blasphemies.
[ Lyrics from: http://www.lyricsfreak.com/v/ved+buens+ende/to+swarm+deserted+away_20331033.html ]