Asleep Between Good And Evil

In a small house uphill buried in stone
Where what was sought
Blessed itself in hiding,
I am pulled equally to my left and right;
To the left, where there are the bars where my poisons lie
To the right, where the altars smile.
In the hard hours of the night
Musicians from both sides play invitations.

The cisk trickling down the square tables
Hunger for my thirst, which promises hourly sensations.
How can I resist that which no morals deny?

The choir singing beneath the Virgin's light
Tempt me serenity to do good for it is good.
Being good brings nothing but at least it does no harm.

In front of the house a small man walks uphill
The street he walks is mine but he knows it better
For the conflict it brings he has alreay overcome.

What if all the street lights were to die?