If you want to leave for the afterlife,
You mustn't dress yourself in white clouds
Nor dress like a morning star.
You shall see how they'll know who's calling
As soon as they open the door.
I have offered you rose water
And you gave me poison.
You're the son of a hawk; born in the cold,
You bring the desert with you when you fly.
Take the roots of rosemary
And some wicker, supple and white.
Bathe with the herbs that I've mentioned to you,
Drink the dew during Saint John's Eve,
When the moon is full at midnight.
I have offered you rose water
And you gave me poison.
You're the son of a hawk; born in the cold,
You bring the desert with you when you fly.