What is the tumult among the stars
That have shone so still till now?
What are the furrows of pain and wrath

Upon the immortal brow?

What is the beauty that flames so bright

Athwart the awful dawn?
She has taken flesh, she is come to judge
The thrones ye rule upon


Quail ye kings for an end is come
In the birth of Babalon


O popes and kings and the little gods
Are sick and sad and wan

To see the crismon star that bursts
Like blood upon the dawn


The gates shall fall and the irons break
In the birth of Babalon


Her mouth is red and her breasts are fair
And her loins are full of fire
And her lust is strong as a men is strong

In the heat of her desire

And her !@^%dom is holy as virtue is foul

Beneath the holy sky
And her kisses will wanton the world away
In passion that shall not die