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Oh, bravest knight and palmer,
Who have traveled by and by,
Why tread you through this bower
With vengeance in your eyes?

This place is our paradise,
Where we content but to recline,
To bathe in crystal waters
And the juices of the vine.

We offered you our friendship
And the pleasures of our skin;
You burned this garden down
To cleanse us of our “sin”.

No Hell could compare to
That which you today have shown.
Are you so hateful of your flesh
As to scorn us for our own?

Drag me away by the rope.
Is this what you call virtue?
Is this the work of your God?

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