Ah, come to me, run to me, fill me with joy,
Dear, dear, dear.
The air is a passion of perfume and song,
The little moon swings up above, look above,
I cannot wait longer, I’ve waited so long,
Love, love, love.
SANS-JOY
Hide your eyes, Angels, beneath your gold phylacteries,
Israfel will charm you with the magic of his song: