Fair is foul and foul is fair.
We long for fair but foul we get.
Like the hamattan mist, we wish it’ll never stay
It comes and steals and leaves a scar:
A crack, a wrinkle and a mark.
What is foul is also fair.
Now you may really make nothing out of it
But today is pregnant and tomorrow the mid-wife.
Be still and anticipate the child.
Whom I know will kill all the guile.
But for now you must stand a silent look
Lest you’ll be found with a fatal guile.
Then your love will gain an eternal bliss
And you are thrown into the blazing abyss.