My down in the earth

That my face looks without peace. Refusing to live with this humanity. That mysticism denies my being, decadent without dawn. I have already fallen into black magic, which is simple and plain patience of that ancient science that will see me perish. No more, no more will I drink the running water of the rivers, because when I die my body will feed the cold forests and the birds of the shadows at dawn. If I am not to leave, may my flesh not be disturbed by the winds, nor the lands give me food that I do not deserve. No more, no more will I drink the running water of the rivers, because when I die my body will feed the cold forests and the birds of the shadows at dawn. May the earth feed me if I deserve it, and may the beasts smell me as I walk, may my existence not be disturbed from dusk to dawn if my face is no longer to breathe.