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Rage--Goddess! Sing of your flight,From our fathers and our sons.Away, Goddess! Secret your divinity!From the conceit that makes kings of foolsFrom the scrutiny that makes corpses of souls.Mouths open, arms thrown wide, we beseech thee:Sing us the end of your song.
They did hoist Anarlû’s head high,And poured down its blood as fire.And the ground gave forth many sons,Ninety nine who were as Gods,And so bid their fathersBe as sons…