Κύριε, ἡ ἐν πολλαῖς ἁμαρτίαις περιπεσοῦσα γυνή,
τὴν σὴν αἰσθομένη θεότητα,　
 

Oh Lord, my God,  I fell asleep

No longer in a state of grace

No longer a beautiful woman

Beloved by the Emperor,

But a harlot, like Mary Magdalene,
A sister of the Christ

Dazzled by the myrrh,
By an acre of sorcery, by a terrible moon
By a time of the month.

Nothing is too soon.
Give me your tears

Let me wash your feet,

Wash away your Golgotha fears

We all die Lord

The place of the skull lives
Within the waters of the sea
Tides rise in my heart,

Listen to the sighing of my heart,
Your bedroom is empty.
Let me so-destroy your thighs,
That sin that will rise and forgive,

Will rise and forgive
In the Paradise Of the Twilight,
I cry, I fear, hiding away, I am ashamed

I become one of the crowd

At the crimson gates of Constantinople

The abyss opens up before me
How do I make up my mind to live, my sanctified Saviour?
For I am not your servant, Sir, but your lover.