Classic Poem

PRIEST :

Now it is time for you to weep!
Alas, I was created
and for my god
festal bundles of blood-stained ears of corn
I carry now
to the divine hearth.
You are my chief, Prince and Magician,
and though in truth
it is you who produces our sustenance,
although you are the first,
we only cause you shame.

CHOIR IN THE VOICE OF TLALOC :

If anyone
has caused me shame,
it is because he did not know me well;
you are my fathers, my priesthood,
Serpents and Tigers.

CHOIR IN THE VOICE OF THE CHILD :

I will go away forever,
it is time for crying.
Send me to the Place of Mystery,
under your command.
I have already told
the Prince of the Sad Omen,
I will go away forever,
it is time for crying.
In four years
comes the arising among us,
many people
without knowing it;
in the place of the fleshless,
the house of quetzal feathers,
is the transformation.
It is the act of the Propagator of Men.

PRIEST :

Go to all parts,
spread out
in Poyauhtlan,
in the region of mist.
With timbrels of mist
our word is carried to Tlalocan.