Oleanders, heavy with flowers
branching out in the cold mist
to witness an ungodly scene.

All around us the air stood still
not a blow on the mount
as if Zephyrus himself was waiting.

Tragedy in my arms
while I teach my murderer
how to become a man;

Ready to strike again
he doesn't see
the madness creeping inside him,

Yet I do not warn him.
It is not my duty
to deprive doomed Gods of distractions.