Parsifal
Et O ces voix d'enfants, chantant dan la couple!

Parsifal has put off the boys and girls, their
     babbling song and dance, their
Sexy ways.          He stands
     blond and tall
          enhanced by the magic of his not knowing
what's going on, amidst their knowing
     inclination everywhere
toward the flesh of the virgin youth. He glows
     untoucht, most fair,
          in all those glancing shadows that
would cast their spell
     and seduce the hero to their lights of love,
          tricks of the afternoon
and one-night stands.

Parsifal has put off Kundry, the most beautiful of all
     woman, She of Subtle Heart, turnd away
          from her cool arms
and the beat of blood displayed at her throat
     that would excite the soul's
          hot deep welling up of desire
and yet quench the heat.

He has put off Hell's magic fire
     and from whose glimmering halls
          falling in ruins as he turns returnd
to the tents of light burdend with a heavy prize
     his boyish arm has won
          back from the hold of hidden things.

With the Lance that pierced the side of the Lord
     he does not know Whose Name, he knows now
only what he has to do.          He heals
     the king from his anguish, brings up
          out of the dark he dared,
as if it were a ray of light, the spear
     won back from magic's realm, returnd
          to the king, to the very king himself
long lingering at the edge of the Father's love,
     the priest he is himself
          of the essential Treasure.

          In gold robe

Parsifal adores the glory and the symbol
- but it is a simple pure dish of crystal which shines
          The Blood of the Real,

pulse of the Father's love the music raises.

And O,     	the voices of the children,
                singing in the dome above.