On top of Old Hanver hill rest the lass

With the title of le Sang est Tombé 

So do not march alone or in a mass

Or you and all will end less than flambe 

Instead, you shall pay time through offerings.

Leave a bowl of wounds' water at her shrine 

And only then you may wake from slumbering 

For if one was to lay full, she would dine.

You must keep ears open and hands off wine 

For if she makes you pay her good welcomes

You would better listen to her every line

For if you don't, dread will be your outcome.

Heed well this message delivered to you

Or my mistress's wrath shall surely ensue!